Claude  I  'ignoii,  Calystt,  and  F'dicite 

Photogravure  —  From  Drawing  by  W.   Boucher 


Illustrated  Sterling  edition 


BEATRIX 


The  Jealousies  of  a  Country  Town 
The  Commission  in  Lunacy 


BY 
HONORE  de  BALZAC 


BOSTON 
DANA  ESTES  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHTED    1901 
BY 

JOHN  D.  AVIL 


A II  Rights  Reserved 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION vii 

BEATRIX: 

(Btatrijc;  Translator,  JAMES  WARING) 

/.  DRAMA  TIS  PERSONS  -  I 

//.  THE  DRAMA                                               -  -  123 

///.  RETROSPECTIVE  ADULTERY           -  -              -  226 


PART  II 
INTRODUCTION     -  ...  -      vii 

THE  JEALOUSIES    OF  A    COUNTRY   TOWN: 
(Les  Rivaiitts ;  Translator,  ELLEN  MARRIAGE) 

THE  OLD  MAW       -  -          I 

THE  COLLECTION  OF  ANTIQUITIES         •  •     M? 


THE    COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  -    303 

(L'  Interdiction  ;  Translator,  CLARA  BELL) 


VOL.  7—1 


BEATRIX 


INTRODUCTION 

Beatrix  was  built  up  in  the  odd  fashion  in  which  Balzac 
sometimes  did  build  up  his  novels,  and  which  may  be  thought 
to  account  for  an  occasional  lack  of  unity  and  grasp  in  them. 
The  original  book,  written  in  1838,  and  published  with  the 
rather  flowery  dedication  "to  Sarah"  at  the  end  of  that 
vear,  stopped  at  the  marriage  of  Calyste  and  Sabine.  The 
last  part,  separately  entitled  Un  Adultere  Retrospectif,  was 
not  added  till  six  years  later.  It  cannot  be  said  to  be  either 
very  shocking  or  very  unnatural  that  the  young  husband 
should  exemplify  the  truth  of  that  uncomfortable  proverb, 
Qui  a  bu  boira;  and  it  is  perhaps  rather  more  surprising  that 
Balzac  should  have  allowed  him  to  be  "refished"  (as  the 
French  say)  in  a  finally  satisfactory  condition  by  his  lawful 
spouse. 

Still,  I  do  not  think  the  addition  can  be  considered  on  the 
whole  an  improvement  to  the  book,  of  which  it  is  at  the  best 
rather  an  appendix  than  an  integral  part.  The  conception 
of  Beatrix  herself  seems  to  have  changed  somewhat,  and  that 
not  as  the  conception  of  her  immortal  namesake  in  Esmond 
and  The  Virginians  changes,  merely  to  suit  the  irreparable 
outrage  of  years.  The  end  has  unsavory  details,  which  have 
not,  as  the  repetition  of  them  in  more  tragic  form  a  little  later 
in  La  Cousine  Bette  has,  the  justification  of  a  really  tragic 
retribution ;  and  a  man  must  have  a  great  deal  of  disinterested 
good  nature  about  him  to  feel  any  satisfaction,  or  indeed  to 

take  much  interest,  in  the  restoration  of  the  domestic  happi- 

(vii) 


Viii  INTRODUCTION 

ness  of  two  such  persons  as  M.  and  Mme.de  Eochefide.  Calyste 
du  Guenic,  whose  character  was  earlier  rather  exaggerated, 
is  now  almost  a  caricature,  and  to  me  at  least  the  thing  is 
not  much  excused  by  the  fact  that  it  gives  Balzac  an  oppor- 
tunity of  introducing  his  pattern  gentleman-scoundrel, 
Maxime  de  Trailles,  and  his  pet  Bohemian,  La  Palferine. 
The  many-named  Italian  here  indeed  plays  a  comparatively 
benevolent  part,  as  does  Trailles;  but  they  are  both  as  great 
"  raffs"  and  "  tigers"  as  ever. 

The  first  and  larger  part  of  the  book,  on  the  other  hand, — 
the  book  proper,  as  we  may  call  it, — is  a  remarkable,  a  well- 
designed,  and  a  very  interesting  study.  It  is  not  so  much 
of  an  additional  attraction  to  me,  as  it  perhaps  is  to  most 
people,  that  contemporaries,  without  much  contradiction,  or 
in  all  cases  improbability,  chose  to  regard  the  parts  and  per- 
sonages of  Felicite  des  Touches,  Beatrix  de  Eochefide, 
Claude  Vignon,  and  the  musician  Conti,  as  designed,  and 
pretty  closely  designed,  after  George  Sand,  Madame  d'Agoult 
(known  as  "Daniel  Stern"),  Gustave  Planche,  the  critic, 
and  Liszt.  As  to  the  first  pair,  there  can,  of  course,  be  no 
doubt ;  for  Balzac,  by  representing  "  Camille  Maupin "  as 
George  Sand's  rival,  and  by  introducing  divers  ingenious 
and  legitimate  adaptations  of  the  famous  she-novelist's 
career,  both  invites,  and  in  a  way  authorizes,  the  attribu- 
tion. There  is  nothing  offensive  in  it;  indeed,  Felicite  is 
one  of  the  most  effective  and  sympathetic  of  his  female  char- 
acters, and  would  always  have  been  incapable  of  the  rather 
heartless  action  by  which  the  actual  George  Sand  amused 
herself  intellectually  and  sentimentally  with  lover  after  lover^, 
and  then  threw  them  away.  Unless  the  accounts  of  Planche 
that  we  have  are  very  unfair — and  they  possibly  are,  for  he 


INTRODUCTION  it 

was  a  critic,  and  was  particularly  obnoxious  to  the  extreme 
Eomantic  school,  which  was  perhaps  why  Balzac  liked  him — 
Claude  Vignon  is  a  still  more  flattered  portrait,  though  Bal- 
zac's low,  if  not  quite  impartial,  opinion  of  critics  in  general 
comes  out  in  it.  Conti  may  be  fair  enough  for  Liszt;  and  if 
Beatrix  is  certainly  a  libel  on  poor  Madame  d'Agoult,  it 
must  be  remembered  that  this  later  Madame  de  Stael  was 
generally  misrepresented  in  her  lifetime,  though  since  her 
death  she  has  had  more  justice. 

The  "  key  "-interest  of  books,  however,  is  always  a  minor, 
and  sometimes  a  purely  illegitimate  one.  It  ought  to  be 
sufficient  for  us  that  the  interest  of  the  quartette,  even  if 
there  had  been  no  such  persons  as  George  Sand,  Daniel  Stern, 
Planche,  and  Liszt  in  the  world,  would  be  very  great,  and 
that  it  is  well  composed  with  and  maintained  by  the  accessory 
and  auxiliary  facts  and  characters.  The  picture  of  the 
Guenic  household  (which,  after  Balzac's  usual  fashion,  throws 
us  back  to  Les  Chouans,  while  Beatrix  as  a  Casteran,  and 
thus  a  connection  of  the  luckless  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  is  also 
connected  with  that  book)  may  seem  to  some  to  be  a  little 
too  fully  painted;  it  does  not  seem  so  to  me.  Whether,  as 
hinted  above,  the  character  of  Calyste  has  its  childishness 
exaggerated  or  not,  I  must  leave  to  readers  to  decide  for 
themselves.  His  casting  of  Beatrix  into  the  sea,  besides  be- 
ing illegal,  may  seem  to  some  extravagant;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  Balzac  was  originally  writing  when  the 
heyday  of  the  Eomantic  movement  was  by  no  means  over, 
and  when  melodrama  was  still  pretty  fully  in  fashion.  It 
is  difficult,  too,  to  see  what  better,  contrast  and  uniting  scheme 
for  the  contrasted  worldliness  of  the  four  chief  characters 
could  have  been  devised;  while  the  childishness  itslf  is  not 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

inconceivable  or  unnatural  in  a  boy  brought  up  in  a  sort 
of  household  of  romance  by  a  heroic  father  and  a  doting 
mother,  both  utterly  unworldly,  his  head  being  further  fired 
by  participating  in  actual  civil  war  on  behalf  of  an  injured 
princess,  and  his  heart  exposed  without  preparation  to  such 
different  influences  as  those  of  Mile,  des  Touches  and  of 
Beatrix. 

The  contrast  of  the  two  ladies  is  also  fine;  indeed,  Beatrix 
seems  to  me,  though  by  no  means  Balzac's  most  perfect  work, 
to  be  an  attempt  in  a  higher  style  of  novel  writing  than  any 
other  heroine  of  his.  It  is  impossible  not  to  suspect  in 
Felicite,  good,  clever,  and  so  forth  as  she  is,  a  covert  satire 
on  the  variety  of  womankind  which  had  begun  to  be  fashion- 
able. The  satire  on  the  unamiable  side  of  mere  womanliness 
which  the  sketch  of  Beatrix  contains  is,  of  course,  open  and 
undeniable.  I  think  that  Thackeray  has  far  excelled  it,  but 
I  am  not  certain  that  he  was  not  indebted  to  it  as  a  pat- 
tern. The  fault  of  the  French  Beatrix  has  been  expressed 
by  her  creator  on  nearly  the  last  page  of  the  book.  A  woman 
sans  coeur  ni  tete  may  do  a  great  deal  of  mischief;  but  she 
cannot  quite  play  the  part  attributed  to  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide. 

The  first  two  parts  of  Beatrix  (in  which  Madame  de 
Kochefide  was  at  first  called  Rochegude)  appeared  in  the 
Siecle  during  April  and  May  1839,  with  the  alternative  title 
ou  les  Amours  Forces,  and  they  were  published  in  book  form 
by  Souverain  in  the  same  year.  They  were  then  divided 
briefly:  the  first  part,  which  was  called  Moeurs  D'Autrefois 
in  the  Siecle,  and  Une  Famille  Patriarcale  in  the  book,  had 
eight  headed  chapters;  the  second  (Moeurs  d'Aujourhui  in 
the  first,  Une  Femme  Celebre  in  the  second)  eleven;  and  a 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

third  division,  Les  Rivalites,  eight.  As  a  Scene  de  la  Vie 
Privee,  which  it  became  in  1842,  it  had  no  chapters;  it  was 
little  altered  otherwise;  and  the  present  completion  was  an- 
ticipated, though  not  given,  in  a  final  paragraph.  It  also 
had  the  simple  title  of  Beatrix.  The  completion  itself  did  not 
appear  till  the  midwinter  (December- January)  of  1844-45. 
It  was  first  called  Les  Petits  Maneges  d'une  Femme  Vertueuse 
in  the  Messager,  and  when,  shortly  afterwards,  it  was  pub- 
lished by  Chlendowski  as  a  book,  La  Lune  de  MieL  In  these 
forms  it  had  fifty-nine  headed  chapters.  In  the  same  year, 
however,  it  became,  with  its  forerunners,  part  of  the  Comedi*. 
and  the  chapters  were  swept  away  throughout.  G.  S. 


BEATRIX 

To  Sarah 

In  clear  weather,  on  the  Mediterranean  shore,  where  formerly 
your  name  held  elegant  sway,  the  waves  sometimes  .allow  us  to 
perceive  beneath  the  mist  of  waters  a  sea-flower,  one  of  Nature's 
masterpieces:  the  lace  work  of  its  tissue,  tinged  with  purple, 
russet,  rose,  violet,  or  gold,  the  crispness  of  that  living  filagree, 
the  velvet  texture,  all  vanish  as  soon  as  curiosity  draws  it  forth 
and  spreads  it  on  the  strand. 

Thus  would  the  glare  of  publicity  offend  your  tender  modesty; 
so,  in  dedicating  this  work  to  you,  I  must  reserve  a  name  which 
would  indeed  be  its  pride.  But  under  the  shelter  of  this  half 
concealment,  your  superb  hands  may  bless  it,  your  noble  brow 
may  bend  and  dream  over  it,  your  eyes,  full  of  motherly  love, 
may  smile  upon  it,  since  you  are  here  at  once  present  and  veiled. 
Like  that  gem  of  the  ocean-garden,  you  will  dwell  on  the  fine 
white  level  sand  where  your  beautiful  life  expands,  hidden  by  a 
wave  that  is  transparent  only  to  certain  friendly  and  reticent 
eyes. 

I  would  gladly  have  laid  at  your  feet  a  work  in  harmony  with 
.your  perfections;  but  as  that  was  impossible,  I  knew,  for  my 
consolation,  that  I  was  gratifying  one  of  your  instincts  by  offer- 
ing you  something  to  protect. 

DE  BALZAC. 
PART  I 

DRAMATIS   PERSONS 

FRANCE,  and  more  especially  Brittany,  still  has  some  few- 
towns  that  stand  entirely  outside  the  social  movement  which 
gives  a  character  to  the  nineteenth  century.  For  lack  of  rapid 
and  constant  communications  with  Paris,  connected  only  by 
an  ill-made  road  with  the  prefecture  or  chief  town  to  which 

(*) 


2  BEATRIX 

they  belong,  these  places  hear  and  see  modern  civilization  pas& 
by  like  a  spectacle ;  they  are  amazed,  but  they  do  not  applaud ; 
and  whether  they  fear  it  or  make  light  of  it,  they  remain 
faithful  to  the  antiquated  manners  of  which  they  preserve 
the  stamp.  Any  one  who  should  travel  as  a  moral  archaeolo- 
gist, and  study  men  instead  of  stones,  might  find  a  picture 
of  the  age  of  Louis  XV.  in  some  village  of  Provence,  that  of 
the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  in  the  depths  of  Poitou,  that  of  yet 
remoter  ages  in  the  heart  of  Brittany. 

Most  of  these  places  have  fallen  from  some  splendor  of 
•which  history  has  kept  no  record,  busied  as  it  is  with  facts 
and  dates  rather  than  manners,  but  of  which  the  memory 
still  survives  in  tradition;  as  in  Brittany,  where  the  char- 
acter of  the  people  allows  no  forgetfulness  of  anything  that 
concerns  the  home  country.  Many  of  these  towns  have  been 
the  capital  of  some  little  feudal  territory — a  county  or  a 
duchy  conquered  by  the  Crown,  or  broken  up  by  inheritors 
in  default  of  a  direct  male  line.  Then,  deprived  of  their  ac- 
tivity, these  heads  became  arms;  the  arms,  bereft  of  nutri- 
tion, have  dried  up  and  merely  vegetate;  and  within  these 
thirty  years  these  images  of  remote  times  are  beginning  to 
die  out  and  grow  very  rare. 

Modern  industry,  toiling  for  the  masses,  goes  on  destroy- 
ing the  creations  of  ancient  art,  for  its  outcome  was  as  per- 
sonal to  the  purchaser  as  to  the  maker.  We  have  products 
nowadays ;  we  no  longer  have  works.  Buildings  play  a  large* 
part  in  the  phenomena  of  retrospection;  but  to  industry, 
buildings  are  stone-quarries  or  saltpetre  mines,  or  storehouses 
for  cotton.  A  few  years  more  and  these  primitive  towns  will 
be  transformed,  known  no  more  excepting  in  this  literary 
iconography. 

One  of  the  towns  where  the  physiognomy  of  the  feudal 
ages  is  still  most  plainly  visible  is  Guerande.  The  name  alone 
will  revive  a  thousand  memories  in  the  mind  of  painters,  art- 
ists, and  thinkers  who  may  have  been  to  the  coast  and  have 
seen  this  noble  gem  of  feudality  proudly  perched  where  it 


BEATRIX  3 

commands  the  sand-hills  and  the  strand  at  low  tide,  the  top 
corner,  as  it  were,  of  a  triangle  at  whose  other  points  stand 
two  not  less  curious  relicts — le  Croisic  and  le  Bourg  de  Batz. 
Besides  Guerande  there  are  but  two  places — Vitre,  in  the  very 
centre  of  Brittany,  and  Avignon  in  the  south — which  pre- 
serve their  mediaeval  aspect  and  features  intact  in  the  midst 
of  our  century. 

Guerande  is  to  this  day  enclosed  by  mighty  walls,  its  wide 
moats  are  full  of  water,  its  battlements  are  unbroken,  its 
loopholes  are  not  filled  up  with  shrubs,  the  ivy  has  thrown  no 
mantle  over  its  round  and  square  towers.  It  has  three  gates, 
where  the  rings  may  still  be  seen  for  suspending  the  port- 
cullis; it  is  entered  over  drawbridges  of  timber  shod  with 
iron,  which  could  be  raised,  though  they  are  raised  no  longer. 
The  municipality  was  blamed  in  1820  for  planting  poplars 
by  the  side  of  the  moat  to  shade  the  walk;  it  replied  that 
on  the  land  side,  by  the  sand-hills,  for  above  a  hundred  years, 
the  fine,  long  esplanade  by  the  walls,  which  look  as  if  they  had 
been  built  yesterday,  had  been  made  into  a  mall  over- 
shadowed by  elms,  where  the  inhabitants  took  their  pleasure. 

The  houses  have  known  no  changes ;  they  are  neither  more 
nor  less  in  number.  Not  one  of  them  has  felt  on  its  face  the 
hammer  of  the  builder,  or  the  brush  of  the  whitewasher,  or 
trembled  under  the  weight  of  an  added  story.  They  all  re- 
tain their  primitive  character.  Some  are  raised  on  wooden 
columns  forming  "rows,"  under  which  there  is  a  footway, 
floored  with  planks  that  yield  but  do  not  break.  The  shop- 
dwellings  are  small  and  low,  and  faced  with  slate  shingles. 
Woodwork,  now  decayed,  has  been  largely  used  for  carved 
window- f rames ;  and  the  beams,  prolonged  beyond  the  pil- 
lars, project  in  grotesque  heads,  or  at  the  angles,  in  the  form 
of  fantastic  creatures,  vivified  by  the  great  idea  of  Art,  which 
at  that  time  lent  life  to  dead  matter.  These  ancient  things, 
defying  the  touch  of  time,  offer  to  painters  the  brown  tones 
and  obliterated  lines  that  they  delight  in. 

The  streets  are  what  they  were  a  hundred  years  ago.  Only, 
as  the  population  is  thinner  now,  as  the  social  stir  is  less 


4  BEATRIX 

active,  .a  traveler  curious  to  wander  through  this  town,  as 
fine  as  a  perfect  suit  of  antique  armor,  may  find  his  way, 
not  untouched  by  melancholy,  down  an  almost  deserted  street, 
where  the  stone  window-frames  are  choked  with  concrete  to 
avoid  the  tax.  This  street  ends  at  a  postern-gate  built  up 
Avith  a  stone  wall,  and  crowned  by  a  clump  of  saplings  planted 
there  by  the  hand  of  Breton  Nature — France  can  hardly  show 
a  more  luxuriant  and  all-pervading  vegetation.  If  he  is  a 
poet  or  a  painter,  our  wanderer  will  sit  down,  absorbed  in 
the  enjoyment  of  the  perfect  silence  that  reigns  under  the 
still  sharp-cut  vaulting  of  this  side  gate,  whither  no  sound 
comes  from  the  peaceful  town,  whence  the  rich  country  may 
be  seen  in  all  its  beauty  through  loopholes,  once  held  by 
archers  and  cross-bowmen,  which  seem  placed  like  the  little 
windows  arranged  to  frame  a  view  from  a  summer-house. 

It  is  impossible  to  go  through  the  town  without  being  re- 
minded at  every  step  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  long  past 
times;  every  stone  speaks  of  them;  traditions  of  the  Middle 
Ages  survive  there  as  superstitions.  If  by  chance  a  gendarme 
passes  in  his  laced  hat,  his  presence  is  an  anachronism  against 
which  the  mind  protests ;  but  nothing  is  rarer  than  to  meet  a 
being  or  a  thing  of  the  present.  There  is  little  to  be  seen 
even  of  the  dress  of  the  day ;  so  much  of  it  as  the  natives  have 
accepted  has  become  to  some  extent  appropriate  to  their  un- 
changing habits  and  hereditary  physiognomy.  The  market- 
place is  filled  with  Breton  costumes,  which  artists  come  here 
to  study,  and  which  are  amazingly  varied.  The  whiteness  of 
the  linen  clothes  worn  by  the  poludiers,  the  salt-workers  who 
collect  salt  from  the  pans  in  the  marshes,  contrasts  effect- 
ively with  the  blues  and  browns  worn  by  the  inland  peasants, 
and  the  primitive  jewelry  piously  preserved  by  the  women. 
These  two  classes  and  the  jacketed  seamen,  with  their  round 
varnished  leather  hats,  are  as  distinct  as  the  castes  in  India, 
and  they  still  recognize  the  distinctions  that  separate  the 
townsfolk,  the  clergy,  and  the  nobility.  Here  every  landmark 
still  exists;  the  revolutionary  plane  found  the  divisions  too 
rugged  and  too  hard  to  work  over ;  it  would  have  been  notched 


BEATRIX  5 

if  not  broken.  Here  the  immutability  which  Nature  has 
given  to  zoological  species  is  to  be  seen  in  men.  In  short, 
even  since  the  revolution  of  1830,  Guerande  is  still  a  place 
unique,  essentially  Breton,  fervently  catholic,  silent,  medita- 
tive, where  new  ideas  can  scarcely  penetrate. 

Its  geographical  position  accounts  for  this  singularity. 
This  pretty  town  overlooks  the  salt  marshes;  its  salt  is  in- 
deed known  throughout  Brittany  as  Sel  de  Guerande,  and  to 
its  merits  many  of  the  natives  ascribe  the  excellence  of  their 
butter  and  sardines.  It  has  no  communication  with  the  rest 
of  France  but  by  two  roads,  one  leading  to  Savenay,  the  chief 
town  of  the  immediate  district,  and  thence  to  Saint-Nazaire ; 
and  the  other  by  Vannes  on  to  Morbihan.  The  district  road 
connects  it  with  Nantes  by  land;  that  by  Saint-Nazaire  and 
then  by  boat  also  leads  to  Nantes.  The  inland  road  is  used 
only  by  the  Government,  the  shorter  and  more  frequented 
way  is  by  Saint-Nazaire.  Between  that  town  and  Guerande 
lies  a  distance  of  at  least  six  leagues,  which  the  mails  do  not 
serve,  and  for  a  very  good  reason — there  are  not  three  travel- 
ers by  coach  a  year.  Saint-Nazaire  is  divided  from  Paim- 
bceuf  by  the  estuary  of  the  Loire,  there  four  leagues  in 
width.  The  bar  of  the  river  makes  the  navigation  by  steam- 
boat somewhat  uncertain ;  and  to  add  to  the  difficulties,  there 
was,  in  1829,  no  landing  quay  at  the  cape  of  Saint-Nazaire; 
the  point  ended  in  slimy  shoals  and  granite  reefs,  the  natural 
fortifications  of  its  picturesque  church,  compelling  arriving 
voyagers  to  fling  themselves  and  their  baggage  into  boats 
when  the  sea  was  high,  or,  in  fine  weather,  to  walk  across  the 
rocks  as  far  as  the  jetty  then  in  course  of  construction. 
These  obstacles,  ill  suited  to  invite  the  amateur,  may  per- 
haps still  exist  there.  In  the  first  place,  the  authorities  move 
but  slowly ;  and  then  the  natives  of  this  corner  of  land,  which 
you  may  see  projecting  like  a  tooth  on  the  map  of  France 
between  Saint-Nazaire,  le  Bourg  de  Batz,  and  le  Croisic,  are 
very  well  content  with  the  hindrances  that  protect  their  terri- 
tory from  the  incursions  of  strangers. 

Thus  flung  down  on  the  edge  of  a  continent,  Gu6rande 


6  BEATRIX 

leads  no  whither,  and  no  one  ever  comes  there.  Happy  in 
being  unknown,  the  town  cares  only  for  itself.  The  centre 
of  the  immense  produce  of  the  salt  marshes,  paying  not  less 
than  a  million  francs  in  taxes,  is  at  le  Croisic,  a  peninsular 
town  communicating  with  Guerande  across  a  tract  of  shifting 
sands,  where  the  road  traced  each  day  is  washed  out  each 
night,  and  by  boats  indispensable  for  crossing  the  inlet  which 
forms  the  port  of  le  Croisic,  and  which  encroaches  on  the 
sand.  Thus  this  charming  little  town  is  a  Herculaneum  of 
feudalism,  minus  the  winding  sheet  of  lava.  It  stands,  but 
is  not  alive;  its  only  reason  for  surviving  is  that  it  has  not 
been  pulled  down. 

If  you  arrive  at  Guerande  from  le  Croisic,  after  crossing 
the  tract  of  salt  marshes,  you  are  startled  and  excited  at  the 
sight  of  this  immense  fortification,  apparently  quite  new. 
Coming  on  it  from  Saint-Nazaire,  its  picturesque  position 
and  the  rural  charm  of  the  neighborhood  are  no  less  fasci- 
nating. The  country  round  it  is  charming,  the  hedges  full 
of  flowers — honeysuckles,  roses,  and  beautiful  shrubs;  you 
might  fancy  it  was  an  English  wild  garden  planned  by  a 
great  artist.  This  rich  landscape,  so  homelike,  so  little  vis- 
ited, with  all  the  charm  of  a  clump  of  violets  or  lily-of-the- 
valley  found  in  the  midst  of  a  forest,  is  set  in  an  African 
desert  shut  in  by  the  ocean — a  desert  without  a  tree,  with- 
out a  blade  of  grass,  without  a  bird,  where,  on  a  sunny  day, 
the  marsh-men,  dressed  all  in  white,  and  scattered  at  wide 
intervals  over  the  dismal  flats  where  the  salt  is  collected, 
look  just  like  Arabs  wrapped  in  their  burnouse.  Indeed, 
Guerande,  with  its  pretty  scenery  inland,  and  its  desert 
bounded  on  the  right  by  le  Croisic  and  on  the  left  by  Batz, 
is  quite  unlike  anything  else  to  be  seen  by  the  traveler  in 
France.  The  two  types  of  nature  so  strongly  contrasted  and 
linked  by  this  last  monument  of  feudal  life,  are  quite  inde- 
scribably striking.  The  town  itself  has  the  effect  on  the  mind 
that  a  soporific  has  on  the  body ;  it  is  as  soundless  as  Venice. 

There  is  no  public  conveyance  but  that  of  a  carrier  who 
transports  travelers,  parcels,  and  possibly  letters,  in  a 


BEATRIX  7 

wretched  vehicle,  from  Saint-Nazaire  to  Guerande  or  back 
again.  Bernus,  the  driver  of  this  conveyance,  was,  in  1829, 
the  factotum  of  the  whole  community.  He  goes  as  he  likes, 
the  whole  country  knows  him,  he  does  everybody's  commis- 
sions. The  arrival  of  a  carriage  is  an  immense  event — some 
lady  who  is  passing  through  Guerande  by  the  land  road  to  le 
Croisic,  or  a  few  old  invalids  on  their  way  to  take  sea-baths, 
which  among  the  rocks  of  this  peninsula  have  virtues  su- 
perior to  those  of  Boulogne,  Dieppe,  or  les  Sables.  The  peas- 
ants come  on  horseback,  and  for  the  most  part  bring  in  their 
produce  in  sacks.  They  come  hither  chiefly,  as  do  the  salt 
makers,  for  the  business  of  purchasing  the  jewelry  peculiar 
to  their  caste,  which  must  always  be  given  to  Breton  maidens 
on  betrothal,  and  the  white  linen  or  the  cloth  for  their  clothes. 
For  ten  leagues  round,  Guerande  is  still  that  illustrious 
Guerande  where  a  treaty  was  signed  famous  in  French  his- 
tory; the  key  of  the  coast,  displaying  no  less  than  le  Bourg 
de  Batz,  a  magnificence  now  lost  in  the  darkness  of  ages.  The 
jewelry,  the  cloth,  the  linen,  the  ribbons,  and  hats  are  manu- 
factured elsewhere,  but  to  the  purchasers  they  are  the 
specialty  of  Guerande. 

Every  artist,  nay,  and  every  one  who  is  not  an  artist,  who 
passes  through  Guerande,  feels  a  desire — soon  forgotten — 
to  end  his  days  in  its  peace  and  stillness,  walking  out  in  fine 
weather  on  the  mall  that  runs  round  the  town  from  one  gate 
to  the  other  on  the  seaward  side.  Now  and  again  a  vision  of 
this  town  comes  to  knock  at  the  gates  of  memory;  it  comes 
in  crowned  with  towers,  belted  with  walls;  it  displays  its 
robe  strewn  with  lovely  flowers,  shakes  its  mantle  of  sand-hills, 
wafts  the  intoxicating  perfumes  of  its  pretty  thorn-hedged 
lanes,  decked  with  posies  lightly  flung  together;  it  fills  your 
mind,  and  invites  you  like  some  divine  woman  whom  you 
have  once  seen  in  a  foreign  land,  and  who  has  made  herself 
a  home  in  your  heart. 

Close  to  the  church  of  Guerande  a  house  may  be  seen  which 
is  to  the  town  what  the  town  is  to  the  country,  an  exact  image 


8  BEATRIX 

of  the  past,  the  symbol  of  a  great  thing  now  gone,  a  poem. 
This  house  belongs  to  the  noblest  family  in  the  land — that  of 
du  Guaisnic,  who,  in  the  time  of  the  du  Guesclin,  were  as 
superior  to  them  in  fortune  and  antiquity  as  the  Trojans  were 
to  the  Eomans.  The  Guaisqlain  (also  formerly  spelt  du 
Glaicquin) — which  has  become  Guesclin — are  descended  from 
the  Guaisnics.  The  Guaisnics,  as  old  as  the  granite  of  Brit- 
tany, are  neither  Franks  nor  Gauls;  they  are  Bretons,  or,  to 
be  exact,  Celts.  Of  old  they  must  have  been  Druids,  have  cut 
the  mistletoe  in  sacred  groves,  and  have  sacrificed  men  on 
dolmens.  To-day  this  race,  the  equals  of  the  Eohans,  but 
never  choosing  to  be  made  Princes,  powerful  in  the  land  before 
Hugues  Capet's  ancestors  had  been  heard  of,  this  family,  pure 
from  every  alloy,  is  possessed  of  about  two  thousand  francs 
a  year,  this  house  at  Guerande,  and  the  little  castle  of  le 
Guaisnic.  All  the  estates  belonging  to  the  Barony  of  le 
Guaisnic,  the  oldest  in  Brittany,  are  in  the  hands  of  farmers, 
and  bring  in  about  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year  in  spite  of 
defective  culture.  The  du  Guaisnics  are  indeed  still  the 
owners  of  the  land;  but  as  they  cannot  pay  up  the  capital 
deposited  with  them  two  hundred  years  ago  by  those  who 
then  held  them,  they  cannot  take  the  income.  They  are  in 
the  position  of  the  French  Crown  towards  its  tenants  in  1789. 
When  and  where  could  the  Barons  find  the  million  francs 
handed  over  to  them  by  their  farmers  ?  Until  1789  the  tenure 
of  the  fiefs  held  of  the  Castle  of  le  Guaisnic,  which  stands  on 
a  hill,  was  still  worth  fifty  thousand  francs;  but  by  a  single 
vote  the  National  Assembly  suppressed  the  fines  on  leases  and 
sales  paid  to  the  feudal  lords.  In  such  circumstances,  this 
family,  no  longer  of  any  consequence  in  France,  would  be  a 
subject  of  ridicule  in  Paris ;  at  Guerande  it  is  an  epitome  of 
Brittany.  At  Guerande  the  Baron  du  Guaisnic  is  one  of  the 
great  barons  of  France,  one  of  the  men  above  whom  there  is 
but  one — the  King  of  France,  chosen  of  old  to  be  their  chief. 
In  these  days  the  name  of  du  Guaisnic — full  of  local  mean- 
ings, of  which  the  etymology  has  been  explained  in  Les 
Chouans,  or  Brittany  in  1799 — has  undergone  the  same 


BEATRIX  9 

change  as  disfigures  that  of  du  Guaisqlain.  The  tax-collector, 
like  every  one  else,  writes  it  Guenic. 

At  the  end  of  a  silent,  damp,  and  gloomy  alley,  formed  by 
the  gabled  fronts  of  the  neighboring  houses,  the  arch  of  a 
door  in  the  wall  may  be  seen,  high  and  wide  enough  to  admit 
a  horseman,  which  is  in  itself  sufficient  evidence  of  the  house 
having  been  finished  at  a  time  when  carriages  as  yet  were 
not.  This  arch,  raised  on  jambs,  is  all  of  granite.  The  door, 
made  of  oak,  has  cracked  like  the  bark  of  the  trees  that  fur- 
nished the  timber,  and  is  set  with  enormous  nails  in  a  geomet- 
rical pattern.  The  arch  is  coved,  and  displays  the  coat-of- 
arms  of  the  du  Guaisnics,  as  sharp  and  clean-cut  as  though 
the  carver  had  but  just  finished  it.  This  shield  would  delight 
an  amateur  of  heraldry  by  its  simplicity,  testifying  to  the 
pride  and  the  antiquity  of  the  family.  It  is  still  the  same 
as  on  the  day  when  the  crusaders  of  the  Christian  world  in- 
vented these  symbols  to  know  each  other  by;  the  Guaisnics 
have  never  quartered  their  bearings  with  any  others.  It  is 
always  true  to  itself,  like  the  arms  of  France,  which  heralds 
may  recognize  borne  in  chief  or  quarterly  in  the  coats  of  the 
oldest  families.  This  is  the  blazon,  as  you  still  may  see  it 
at  Guerande :  Gules,  a  hand  proper  manched  ermine  holding 
a  sword  argent  in  pale,  with  this  tremendous  motto,  Fac. 
Is  not  that  a  fine  and  great  thing?  The  wreath  of  the  ba- 
ronial coronet  surmounts  this  simple  shield,  on  which  the 
vertical  lines  used,  instead  of  color,  to  represent  gules,  are 
still  clear  and  sharp. 

The  sculptor  has  given  an  indescribable  look  of  pride  and 
chivalry  to  the  hand.  With  what  vigor  does  it  hold  the  sword 
which  has  done  the  family  service  only  yesterday!  Indeed, 
if  you  should  go  to  Guerande  after  reading  this  story,  you 
will  not  look  at  that  coat-of-arms  without  a  thrill.  The  most 
determined  Eepublican  cannot  fail  to  be  touched  by  the 
fidelity,  the  nobleness,  and  the  dignity  buried  at  the  bottom 
of  that  narrow  street.  The  du  Guaisnics  did  well  yesterday; 
they  are  ready  to  do  well  to-morrow.  To  do  is  the  great  word 
of  chivalry.  "You  did  well  in  the  fight/'  was  always  the 


10  BEATRIX 

praise  bestowed  by  the  High  Constable  par  excellence,  the 
great  du  Guesclin,  who  for  a  while  drove  the  English  out  of 
France.  The  depth  of  the  carving,  protected  from  the 
weather  by  the  projecting  curved  margin  of  the  arch,  seems 
in  harmony  with  the  deeply  graven  moral  of  the  motto  in 
the  spirit  of  this  family.  To  those  who  know  the  Guaisnics 
this  peculiarity  is  very  pathetic. 

The  open  door  reveals  a  fairly  large  courtyard  with  stables 
to  the  right  and  kitchen  offices  to  the  left.  The  house  is 
built  of  squared  stone  from  cellar  to  garret.  The  front  to 
the  courtyard  has  a  double  flight  of  outside  steps ;  the  deco- 
rated landing  at  the  top  is  covered  with  vestiges  of  sculpture 
much  injured  by  time;  but  the  eye  of  the  antiquarian  can 
still  distinguish  in  the  centrepiece  of  the  principal  ornament 
the  hand  holding  the  sword.  Below  this  elegant  balcony, 
graced  with  mouldings  now  broken  in  many  places,  and  pol- 
ished here  and  there  by  long  use,  is  a  little  lodge,  once  occu- 
pied by  a  watch-dog.  The  stone  balustrade  is  disjointed,  and 
weeds,  tiny  flowers,  and  mosses  sprout  in  the  seams  and  on 
the  steps,  which  ages  have  dislodged  without  destroying  their 
solidity.  The  door  into  the  house  must  have  been  pretty  in 
its  day.  So  far  as  the  remains  allow  us  to  judge,  it  must  have 
been  wrought  by  an  artist  trained  in  the  great  Venetian  school 
of  the  thirteenth  century ;  it  shows  a  singular  combination  of 
the  Mauresque  and  Byzantine  styles,  and  is  crowned  by  a 
semicircular  bracket,  which  is  overgrown  with  plants,  a  posy 
of  rose,  yellow,  brown,  or  blue,  according  to  the  season.  The 
door,  of  nail-studded  oak,  opens  into  a  vast  hall,  "beyond 
which  is  a  similar  door  leading  to  such  another  balcony,  and 
steps  down  into  the  garden. 

This  hall  is  in  wonderful  preservation.  The  wainscot,  up 
to  the  height  of  a  man's  elbow,  is  in  chestnut  wood ;  the  walls 
above  are  covered  with  splendid  Spanish  leather  stamped  in 
relief,  its  gilding  rubbed  and  rusty.  The  ceiling  is  coffered, 
artistically  moulded,  painted,  and  gilt,  but  the  gold  is  scarcely 
visible;  it  is  in  the  same  condition  as  that  on  the  Cordova 
leather ;  a  few  red  flowers  and  green  leaves  can  still  be  seen. 


BEATRIX  11 

It  seems  probable  that  cleaning  would  revive  the  paintings, 
and  show  them  to  be  like  those  which  decorate  the  woodwork 
of  the  House  at  Tours,  called  la  Maison  de  Tristan,  which 
would  prove  that  they  had  been  restored  or  repaired  in  the 
time  of  Louis  XI.  The  fireplace  is  enormous,  of  carved  stone, 
with  huge  wrought-iron  dogs  of  the  finest  workmanship.  They 
would  carry  a  cartload  of  logs.  All  the  seats  in  this  hall  are 
of  oak,  and  have  the  family  shield  carved  on  their  backs. 
Hanging  to  nails  on  the  wall  are  three  English  muskets,  fit 
alike  for  war  or  for  sport,  three  cavalry  swords,  two  game- 
bags,  and  various  tackle  for  hunting  and  fishing. 

On  one  side  is  the  dining-room,  communicating  with  the 
kitchen  by  a  door  in  a  corner  turret.  This  turret  corresponds 
with  another  in  the  general  design  of  the  front,  containing  a 
winding-stair  up  to  the  two  stories  above.  The  dining-room 
is  hung  with  tapestries  dating  from  the  fourteenth  century; 
the  style  and  spelling  of  the  legends  on  ribbons  below  each 
figure  prove  their  antiquity;  but  as  they  are  couched  in  the 
frank  language  of  the  Fabliaux,  they  cannot  be  transcribed 
here.  These  pieces,  which  are  well  preserved  in  the  corners 
where  the  light  has  not  faded  them,  are  set  in  frames  of 
carved  oak  now  as  black  as  ebony.  The  ceiling  is  supported 
on  beams  carved  with  foliage,  and  all  different ;  the  flats  be- 
tween are  of  painted  wood,  wreaths  of  flowers  on  a  blue 
ground.  Two  old  dressers  with  cupboards  face  each  other; 
and  on  the  shelves,  rubbed  with  Breton  perseverance  by  Mari- 
otte  the  cook,  may  be  seen  now — as  at  the  time  when  kings 
were  quite  as  poor  in  1200  as  the  du  Guaisnics  in  1830 — four 
old  goblets,  an  ancient  soup-tureen,  and  two  salt-cellars  in 
silver,  a  quantity  of  metal  plates,  a  number  of  blue  and  gray 
stoneware  jugs  with  arabesque  designs  and  the  du  Guaisnic 
arms,  and  crowned  with  hinged  metal  lids. 

The  fireplace  has  been  modernized;  its  state  shows  that 
since  the  last  century  this  has  been  the  family  sitting-room. 
It  is  of  carved  stone  in  the  Louis  XV.  style,  surmounted  by  a 
mirror  framed  in  a  beaded  and  gilt  moulding.  This  anachro- 
nism, to  which  the  family  is  indifferent,  would  grieve  a  poet. 


12  BEATRIX 

On  the  shelf,  covered  with  red  velvet,  there  stands  in  the  mid- 
dle a  clock  of  tortoise-shell,  inlaid  with  brass,  flanked  by  a 
pair  of  silver  candelabra  of  strange  design.  A  large,  table  on 
heavy  twisted  legs  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  room;  the 
chairs  are  of  turned  wood,  covered  with  tapestry.  A  round 
table  with  a  centre  leg  and  claw  carved  to  represent  a  vine- 
stock  stands  in  front  of  the  window  to  the  garden,  and  on 
it  stands  a  quaint  lamp.  This  lamp  is  formed  of  a  globe  of 
common  glass,  rather  smaller  than  an  ostrich's  egg,  held  in  a 
candlestick  by  a  glass  knob  at  the  bottom.  From  an  opening 
at  the  top  comes  a  flat  wick  in  a  sort  of  brass  nozzle ;  the  plait 
of  cotton,  curled  up  like  a  worm  in  a  phial,  is  fed  with  nut  oil 
from  the  glass  vessel.  The  window  looking  out  on  the  garden, 
like  that  on  the  courtyard — for  they  are  alike — has  stone 
mullions  and  hexagon  panes  set  in  lead;  they  are  hung  with 
curtains  and  valances,  decorated  with  heavy  tassels  of  an 
old-fashioned  stuff — red  silk  shot  with  j^ellow,  formerly 
known  as  brocatelle  or  damask. 

Each  floor  of  the  house — there  are  but  two  below  the  attics 
— consists  of  only  two  rooms.  The  first  floor  was  of  old  in- 
habited by  the  head  of  the  family ;  the  second  was  given  up  to 
the  children ;  guests  were  lodged  in  the  attic  rooms.  The  serv- 
ants were  housed  over  the  kitchens  and  stables.  The  sloping 
roof,  leaded  at  every  angle,  has  to  the  front  and  back  alike  a 
noble  dormer  window  with  a  pointed  arch,  almost  as  high  as 
the  ridge  of  the  roof,  supported  on  graceful  brackets;  but 
the  carving  of  the  stone  is  worn  and  eaten  by  the  salt  vapor 
of  the  atmosphere.  Above  the  windows,  divided  into  four  by 
mullions  of  carved  stone,  the  aristocratic  weather-cock  still 
creaks  as  it  veers. 

A  detail,  precious  by  its  originality,  and  not  devoid  of 
merit  in  the  eyes  of  the  archaeologist,  must  not  be  overlooked. 
The  turret  containing  the  winding  stairs  finishes  the  angle 
of  a  broad  gabled  wall  in  which  there  is  no  window.  The 
stairs  go  down  to  a  small  arched  door,  opening  on  a  sandy 
plot  dividing  the  house  from  the  outer  wall  which  forms  the 
back  of  the  stables.  The  turret  is  repeated  at  the  corner  of  the 


BEATRIX  13 

garden  front;  but  instead  of  being  circular,  this  turret  has 
five  angles  and  a  hemispherical  dome ;  also,  it  is  crowned  by  a 
little  belfry  instead  of  carrying  a  conical  cap  like  its  sister. 
This  is  how  those  elegant  architects  lent  variety  to  symmetry. 
On  the  level  of  the  first  floor  these  turrets  are  connected  by  a 
stone  balcony,  supported  by  brackets  like  prows  with  human 
heads.  This  outside  gallery  has  a  balustrade  wrought  with 
marvelous  elegance  and  finish.  Then  from  the  top  of  the 
gable,  below  which  there  is  a  single  small  loophole,  falls  an 
ornamental  stone  canopy,  like  those  which  are  seen  over  the 
heads  of  saints  in  a  cathedral  porch.  Each  turret  has  a  pretty 
little  doorway  under  a  pointed  arch,  opening  on  to  this  bal- 
cony. Thus  did  the  architects  of  the  thirteenth  century  turn 
to  account  the  bare,  cold  wall  which  is  presented  to  us  in 
modern  times  by  the  end  section  of  a  house. 

Cannot  you  see  a  lady  walking  on  this  balcony  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  looking  out  over  Guerande  to  where  the  sun  sheds 
a  golden  light  on  the  sands,  and  is  mirrored  in  the  face  of 
the  ocean?  Do  you  not  admire  this  wall  with  its  finial  and 
gable,  furnished  at  its  corners  with  these  reed-like  turrets — 
one  suddenly  rounded  off  like  a  swallow's  nest,  the  other  dis- 
playing its  little  door  and  gothic  arch  decorated  with  the  hand 
and  sword  ? 

The  other  end  of  the  Hotel  du  Guaisnic  joins  on  to  the 
next  house. 

The  harmony  of  effect  so  carefully  aimed  at  by  the  builders 
of  that  period  is  preserved  in  the  front  to  the  courtyard  by 
the  turret  corresponding  to  that  containing  the  winding  stair 
or  vyse,  an  old  word  derived  from  the  French  vis.  It  serves 
as  a  passage  from  the  dining-room  to  the  kitchen,  but  it 
ends  at  the  first  floor,  and  is  capped  by  a  little  cupola  on  pil- 
lars covering  a  blackened  statue  of  Saint  Calixtus. 

The  garden  is  sumptuous  within  its  ancient  enclosure;  it 
is  more  than  half  an  acre  in  extent,  and  the  walls  are  covered 
with  fruit-trees;  the  square  beds  for  vegetables  are  marked 
out  by  standards,  and  kept  by  a  man-servant  named  Gasselin, 
who  also  takes  charge  of  the  horses.  At  the  bottom  of  the 


14  BEATRIX 

garden  is  an  arbor  with  a  bench  under  it.  In  the  midst  stands 
a  sundial.  The  paths  are  graveled. 

The  garden  front  has  no  second  turret  to  correspond  with 
that  at  the  corner  of  the  gable ;  to  make  up  for  this  there  is  a 
column  with  a  spiral  twist  from  bottom  to  top,  which  of  old 
must  have  borne  the  standard  of  the  family,  for  it  ends  in  a 
large  rusty  iron  socket  in  which  lank  weeds  are  growing.  This 
ornament,  harmonizing  with  the  remains  of  stone-work,  shows 
that  the  building  was  designed  by  a  Venetian  architect ;  this 
elegant  standard  is  like  a  sign  manual  left  by  Venice,  and 
revealing  the  chivalry  and  refinement  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury. If  there  could  still  be  any  doubt,  the  character  of  the 
details  would  remove  them.  The  trefoils  of  the  Guaisnic 
house  have  four  leaves.  This  variant  betrays  the  Venetian 
school  debased  by  its  trade  with  the  East,  since  the  semi- 
Mauresque  architects,  indifferent  to  Catholic  symbolism,  gave 
the  trefoil  a  fourth  leaf,  while  Christian  architects  remained 
faithful  to  the  emblem  of  the  Trinity.  From  this  point  of 
view  Venetian  inventiveness  was  heretical. 

If  this  house  moves  you  to  admiration,  you  will  wonder, 
perhaps,  why  the  present  age  never  repeats  these  miracles  of 
art.  In  our  day  such  fine  houses  are  sold  and  pulled  down, 
and  make  way  for  streets.  Nobody  knows  whether  the  next 
generation  will  keep  up  the  ancestral  home,  where  each  one 
abides  as  in  an  inn ;  whereas  formerly  men  labored,  or  at  least 
believed  that  they  labored,  for  an  eternal  posterity.  Hence 
the  beauty  of  their  houses.  Faith  in  themselves  worked 
wonders,  as  much  as  faith  in  God. 

With  regard  to  the  arrangement  and  furniture  of  the 
upper  stories,  they  can  only  be  imagined  from  this  description 
of  the  ground  floor,  and  from  the  appearance  and  habits  of 
the  family.  For  the  last  fifty  years  the  du  Guaisnics  have 
never  admitted  a  visitor  into  any  room  but  these  two,  which, 
like  the  courtyard  and  the  external  features  of  the  house,  are 
redolent  of  the  grace,  the  spirit,  and  the  originality  of  the 
noble  province  of  old  Brittany. 

Without   this  topography  and  description  of  the  town, 


BEATRIX  15 

without  this  detailed  picture  of  their  home,  the  singular 
figures  of  the  family  dwelling  there  might  have  been  less  well 
understood.  The  frame  was  necessarily  placed  before  the 
portraits.  Every  one  must  feel  that  mere  things  have  an  effect 
on  people.  There  are  buildings  whose  influence  is  visible  on 
the  persons  who  live  near  them.  It  is  difficult  to  be  irre- 
ligious under  the  shadow  of  a  cathedral  like  that  of  Bourges. 
The  soul  that  is  constantly  reminded  of  its  destiny  by  imagery 
finds  it  less  easy  to  fall  short  of  it.  So  thought  our  ancestors, 
but  the  opinion  is  no  longer  held  by  a  generation  which  has 
neither  symbols  nor  distinctions,  while  its  manners  change 
every  ten  years.  Do  you  not  expect  to  find  the  Baron  du 
Guaisnic,  sword  in  hand — or  all  this  picture  will  be  false  ? 

In  1836,  when  this  drama  opens,  in  the  early  days  of 
'August,  the  family  consisted  still  of  Monsieur  and  Madame 
du  Guenic,  of  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic,  the  Baron's  elder 
sister,  and  of  a  son  aged  one-and-twenty,  named  Gaudebert- 
Calyste-Louis,  in  obedience  to  an  old  custom  in  the  family. 
His  father's  name  was  Gaudebert-Calyste-Charles.  Only  the 
last  name  was  ever  changed;  Saint-Gaudebert  and  Saint- 
Calixtus  were  always  the  patrons  of  the  Guenics. 

The  Baron  du  Guenic  had  gone  forth  from  Guerande  as 
soon  as  la  Vendee  and  Brittany  had  taken  up  arms,  and  he 
had  fought  with  Charette,  with  Catelineau,  La  Roche  jaque- 
lein,  d'Elbee,  Bonchamps,  and  the  Prince  de  Loudon.  Before 
going,  he  had  sold  all  his  possessions  to  his  elder  sister, 
Mademoiselle  Zephirine  du  Guenic,  a  stroke  of  prudence 
unique  in  Revolutionary  annals.  After  the  death  of  all  the 
heroes  of  the  West,  the  Baron,  preserved  by  some  miracle  from 
ending  as  they  did,  would  not  yield  to  Napoleon.  He  fought 
on  till  1802,  when,  having  narrowly  escaped  capture,  he  came 
back  to  Guerande,  and  from  Guerande  went  to  le  Croisic, 
whence  he  sailed  to  Ireland — faithful  to  the  traditional  hatred 
of  the  Bretons  for  England. 

The  good  people  of  Guerande  pretended  not  to  know  that 
the  Baron  was  alive;  during  twenty  years  not  a  word  be- 


16  BEATRIX 

trayed  him.  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic  collected  the  rents,  and 
sent  the  money  to  her  brother  through  the  hands  of  fisher- 
men. 

In  1813,  Monsieur  du  Guenic  came  back  to  Guerande  with 
as  little  fuss  as  if  he  had  been  spending  the  summer  at  Nantes. 
During  his  sojourn  in  Dublin,  in  spite  of  his  fifty  years,  the 
Breton  noble  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  charming  Irish  girl, 
the  daughter  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  poorest  houses  of  that 
unhappy  country.  Miss  Fanny  O'Brien  was  at  that  time  one- 
and-twenty.  The  Baron  du  Guenic  came  to  fetch  the  papers 
needed  for  his  marriage,  went. back  to  be  married,  and  re- 
turned ten  months  later,  at  the  beginning  of  1814,  with  his 
wife,  who  gave  birth  to  a  son  on  the  very  day  when  Louis 
XVIII.  landed  at  Calais — which  accounts  for  the  name  of 
Louis. 

The  loyal  old  man  was  now  seventy-three  years  old,  but 
the  guerilla  warfare  against  the  Republic,  his  sufferings  dur- 
ing five  sea  voyages  in  open  boats,  and  his  life  at  Dublin,  had 
all  told  on  him;  he  looked  more  than  a  hundred.  Hence, 
never  had  there  been  a  Guenic  whose  appearance  was  in 
more  perfect  harmony  with  the  antiquity  of  the  house  built 
at.  a  time  when  a  Court  was  held  at  Guerande. 

Monsieur  du  Guenic  was  a  tall  old  man,  upright,  shriveled, 
strongly  knit,  and  lean.  His  oval  face  was  puckered  by  a 
thousand  wrinkles,  forming  arched  fringes  above  the  cheek- 
bones and  eyebrows,  giving  his  face  some  resemblance  to 
those  of  the  old  men  painted  with  such  a  loving  brush  by 
Van  Ostade,  Rembrandt,  Mieris,  and  Gerard  Dow — heads 
that  need  a  magnifying  glass  to  show  their  finish.  His 
countenance  was  buried,  as  it  were,  under  these  numerous 
furrows  produced  by  an  open-air  life,  by  the  habit  of  scan- 
ning the  horizon  in  the  sunshine,  at  sunrise,  and  at  the  fall 
of  day.  But  the  sympathetic  observer  could  still  discern  the 
imperishable  forms  of  the  human  face,  which  always  speak 
to  the  soul  even  when  the  eye  sees  no  more  than  a  death's 
head.  The  firm  modeling  of  the  features,  the  high  brow,  the 
sternness  of  outline,  the  severe  nose,  the  form  of  the  bones 


BEATRIX  17 

which  wounds  alone  can  alter,  expressed  disinterested  cour- 
age, boundless  faith,  implicit  obedience,  incorruptible  fidelity, 
unchanging  affection.  In  him  the  granite  of  Brittany  was 
made  man. 

The  Baron  had  no ,  teeth.  His  lips,  once  red,  but  now 
blue,  were  supported  only  by  the  hardened  gums  with  which 
he  ate  the  bread  his  wife  took  care  first  to  soften  by  wrap- 
ping it  in  a  damp  cloth,  and  they  were  sunk  in  his  face  while 
preserving  a  proud  and  threatening  smile.  His  chin  aimed 
at  touching  his  nose ;  but  the  character  of  that  nose — high  in 
the  middle — showed  his  Breton  vigor  and  power  of  resistance. 
His  complexion,  marbled  with  red  that  showed  through  the 
wrinkles,  was  that  of  a  full-blooded,  high-tempered  man, 
able  to  endure  the  fatigues  which  had  often,  no  doubt,  saved 
him  from  apoplexy.  The  head  was  crowned  with  hair  as 
white  as  silver,  falling  in  curls  on  his  shoulders.  This  face, 
that  seemed  partly  extinct,  still  lived  by  the  brightness  of  a 
pair  of  black  eyes,  sparkling  in  their  dark,  sunken  sockets, 
and  flashing  with  the  last  fires  of  a  generous  and  loyal  soul. 
The  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  were  gone.  The  skin  had  set, 
and  would  not  yield;  the  difficulty  of  shaving  compelled  the 
old  man  to  grow  a  fan-shaped  beard. 

What  a  painter  would  most  have  admired  in  this  old  lion 
of  Brittany,  with  his  broad  shoulders  and  sinewy  breast,  was 
the  hands,  splendid  soldiers  hands — hands  such  as  du 
Guesclin's  must  have  been,  broad,  firm,  and  hairy ;  the  hands 
that  had  seized  the  sword  never  to  relinquish  it — any  more 
than  Joan  of  Arc's — till  the  day  when  the  royal  standard 
floated  in  the  Cathedral  at  Reims;  hands  that  had  often 
streamed  with  blood  from  the  thorns  of  the  Bocage — the 
thickets  of  la  Vendee — that  had  pulled  the  oar  in  the  Marais 
to  steal  upon  the  '^blues,"  or  on  the  open  sea  to  help  Georges 
to  land ;  the  hands  of  a  partisan  and  of  a  gunner,  of  a  private 
and  of  a  captain;  hands  that  were  now  white,  though  the 
Bourbons  of  the  elder  branch  were  in  exile ;  but  if  you  looked 
at  them,  you  could  see  certain  recent  marks  revealing  that 
the  Baron,  not  so  long  ago,  had  joined  MADAME  in  la  Vendee, 


18  BEATRIX 

since  the  truth  may  now  be  told.  These  hands  were  a  living 
commentary  on  the  noble  motto  to  which  no  Guenic  had  ever 
been  false,  "Fad" 

The  forehead  attracted  attention  by  the  golden  tone  on 
the  temples,  in  contrast  with  the  tan  of  that  narrow,  hard, 
set  brow  to  which  baldness  had  given  height  enough  to  add 
majesty  to  the  noble  ruin.  The  whole  countenance,  somewhat 
unintellectual  it  must  be  owned — and  how  should  it  be  other- 
wise?— had,  like  the  other  Breton  faces  grouped  about  it,  a 
touch  of  savagery,  a  stolid  calm,  like  the  impassibility  of 
Huron  Indians,  an  indescribable  stupidity,  due  perhaps  to 
the  complete  reaction  that  follows  on  excessive  fatigue  when 
the  animal  alone  is  left  evident.  Thought  was  rare  there; 
it  was  visibly  an  effort;  its  seat  was  in  the  heart  rather  than 
the  head;  and  its  outcome  was  action  rather  than  an  idea. 
But  on  studying  this  fine  old  man  with  sustained  attention, 
the  mystery  could  be  detected  of  this  practical  antagonism  to 
the  spirit  of  the  age.  His  feelings  and  beliefs  were,  so  to 
speak,  intuitive,  and  saved  him  all  thought.  He  had  learnt 
his  duties  by  dint  of  living.  Eeligion  and  Institutions 
thought  for  him.  Hence  he  and  his  kindred  reserved  their 
powers  of  mind  for  action,  without  frittering  them  on  any 
of  the  things  they  thought  useless,  though  others  considered 
them  important.  He  brought  his  thought  out  of  his  mind 
as  he  drew  his  sword  from  the  scabbard,  dazzling  with  recti- 
tude like  the  hand  in  its  ermine  sleeve  on  his  coat-of-arms. 
As  soon  as  this  secret  was  understood  everything  was  clear. 
It  explained  the  depth  of  the  resolutions  due  to  clear,  definite, 
loyal  ideas,  as  immaculate  as  ermine.  It  accounted  for  the 
sale  to  his  sister  before  the  war,  though  to  him  it  had  meant 
everything — death,  confiscation,  exile.  The  beauty  of  these 
two  old  persons'  characters — for  the  sister  lived  only  in 
and  for  her  brother — cannot  be  fully  appreciated  by  the  self- 
ish habits  which  lie  at  the  root  of  the  uncertainty  and 
changefulness  of  our  day.  An  archangel  sent  down  to  read 
their  hearts  would  not  have  found  in  them  a  single  thought 
bearing  the  stamp  of  self.  In  1814,  when  the  priest  of 


BEATRIX  19 

Guerande  hinted  to  Baron  du  Guenie  that  he  should  go  to 
Paris  to  claim  his  reward,  the  old  sister,  though  avaricious 
for  the  family,  exclaimed : 

"Shame !    Need  my  brother  go  begging  like  a  vagrant  ?" 

"It  would  be  supposed  that  I  had  served  the  King  from 
interested  motives/'  said  the  old  man.  "Besides,  it  is  his 
business  to  remember.  And,  after  all,  the  poor  King  has 
enough  to  do  with  all  who  are  harassing  him.  If  he  were  to 
give  France  away  piecemeal,  he  would  still  be  asked  for  more/' 

This  devoted  servant,  who  cared  so  loyally,  for  Louis 
XVIII.,  received  a  colonelcy,  the  Cross  of  Saint-Louis,  and 
a  pension  of  two  thousand  francs. 

"The  King  has  remembered!"  he  exclaimed,  on  receiving 
his  letters  patent. 

No  one  undeceived  him.  The  business  had  been  carried 
through  by  the  Due  de  Feltre  from  the  lists  of  the  Army  of 
la  Vendee,  in  which  he  found  the  name  of  du  Guenie  with  a 
few  other  Breton  names  ending  in  ic. 

And  so,  in  gratitude  to  the  King,  the  Baron  stood  a  siege 
at  Guerande  in  1815  against  the  forces  of  General  Travot; 
he  would  not  surrender  the  stronghold;  and  when  he  was 
compelled  to  evacuate,  he  made  his  escape  into  the  woods  with 
a  party  of  Chouans,  who  remained  under  arms  till  the  second 
return  of  the  Bourbons.  Guerande  still  preserves  the  memory 
of  this  last  siege.  If  the  old  Breton  trainbands  had  but 
joined,  the  war  begun  by  this  heroic  resistance  would  have 
fired  the  whole  of  la  Vendee. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  Baron  du  Guenie  was  wholly 
illiterate — as  illiterate  as  a  peasant ;  he  could  read,  write,  and 
knew  a  little  of  arithmetic ;  he  understood  the  art  of  war  and 
heraldry;  but  he  had  not  read  three  books  in  his  life  besides 
his  prayer-book. 

His  dress,  a  not  unimportant  detail,  was  always  the  same ; 
it  consisted  of  heavy  shoes,  thick  woolen  stockings,  velvet 
breeches  of  a  greenish  hue,  a  cloth  waistcoat,  and  a  coat  with 
a  high  collar,  on  which  hung  the  Cross  of  Saint-Louis. 

Beautiful  peace  rested  on  his  countenance,  which,  for  a  year 


20  BEATRIX 

past,  frequent  slumber,  the  precursor  of  death,  seemed  to  be 
preparing  for  eternal  rest.  This  constant  sleepiness,  increas- 
ing day  by  day,  did  not  distress  his  wife,  nor  his  now  blind 
sister,  nor  his  friends,  whose  medical  knowledge  was  not 
great.  To  them  these  solemn  pauses  of  a  blameless  but  weary 
soul  were  naturally  accounted  for — the  Baron  had  done  his 
duty.  This  told  all. 

In  this  house  the  predominant  interest  centred  in  the  fate 
of  the  deposed  elder  branch.  The  future  of  the  exiled  Bour- 
bons and  the  Catholic  religion,  and  the  influence  of  the  new 
politics  on  Brittany,  exclusively  absorbed  the  Baron's  family. 
No  other  interest  mingled  with  these  but  the  affection  they 
all  felt  for  the  son  of  the  house,  Calyste,  the  heir  and  only 
hope  of  the  great  name  of  du  Guenic.  The  old  Vendeen, 
the  old  Chouan,  had  known  a  sort  of  renewal  of  his  youth 
a  few  years  since,  to  give  his  son  the  habit  of  those  athletic 
exercises  that  befit  a  gentleman  who  may  be  called  upon  to 
fight  at  any  moment.  As  soon  as  Calyste  reached  the  age  of 
sixteen,  his  father  had  gone  out  with  him  in  the  woods  and 
marshes,  teaching  him  by  the  pleasures  of  sport  the  rudiments 
of  war,  preaching  by  example,  resisting  fatigue,  steadfast  in 
the  saddle,  sure  of  his  aim,  whatever  the  game  might  be, 
ground  game  or  birds,  reckless  in  overcoming  obstacles,  incit- 
ing his  son  to  face  danger  as  though  he  had  ten  children  to 
spare. 

Then,  when  the  Duchesse  de  Berry  came  to  France  to  con- 
quer the  kingdom,  the  father  carried  off  his  son  to  make  him 
act  on  the  family  motto.  The  Baron  set  out  in  the  night 
without  warning  his  wife,  who  might  perhaps  have  displayed 
her  emotion,  leading  his  only  child  under  fire  as  if  it  were  to 
a  festival,  and  followed  by  Gasselin,  his  only  vassal,  who  rode 
forth  gleefully.  The  three  men  of  the  house  were  away  for 
six  months,  without  sending  any  news  to  the  Baroness — who 
never  read  the  Quotidienne  without  quaking  over  every  line — 
nor  to  her  old  sister-in-law,  heroically  upright,  whose  brow 
never  flinched  as  she  listened  to  the  paper.  So  the  three 
muskets  hanging  in  the  hall  had  seen  service  recently.  The 


BEATRIX  *| 

Baron,  in  whose  opinion  this  call  to  arms  was  unavailing,  had 
left  the  field  before  the  fight  at  la  Penissiere,  otherwise  the 
race  of  Guenic  might  have  become  extinct. 

When,  one  night  of  dreadful  weather,  the  father,  son,  and 
serving-man  had  reached  home  after  taking  leave  of 
MADAME,  surprising  their  friends,  the  Baroness,  and  old 
Mademoiselle  du  Guenic — though  she,  by  a  gift  bestowed  on 
all  blind  people,  had  recognized  the  steps  of  three  men  in  the 
little  street — the  Baron  looked  round  on  the  circle  of  his  anx- 
ious friends  gathered  round  the  little  table  lighted  up  by  the 
antique  lamp,  and  merely  said,  in  a  quavering  voice,  while 
Gasselin  hung  up  the  muskets  and  swords  in  their  place,  these 
words  of  feudal  simplicity : 

"Not  all  the  Barons  did  their  duty." 

Then  he  kissed  his  wife  and  sister,  sat  down  in  his  old  arm- 
chair, and  ordered  supper  for  his  son,  himself,  and  Gasselin. 
Gasselin,  having  screened  Calyste  with  his  body,  had  received 
a  sabre  cut  on  his  shoulder ;  such  a  small  matter,  that  he  was 
scarcely  thanked  for  it. 

Neither  the  Baron  nor  his  guests  uttered  a  curse  or  a  word 
of  abuse  of  the  conquerors.  This  taciturnity  is  a  character- 
istically Breton  trait.  In  forty  years  no  one  had  ever  heard 
a  contemptuous  speech  from  the  Baron  as  to  his  adversaries. 
They  could  but  do  their  business,  as  he  did  his  duty.  Such 
stern  silence  is  an  indication  of  immutable  determination. 

This  last  struggle,  the  nicker  of  exhausted  powers,  had 
resulted  in  the  weakness  under  which  the  Baron  was  now 
failing.  The  second  exile  of  the  Bourbons,  as  miraculously 
ousted  as  they  had  been  miraculously  restored,  plunged  him 
in  bitter  melancholy. 

At  about  six  in  the  evening,  on  the  day  when  the  scene 
opens,  the  Baron,  who,  according  to  old  custom,  had  done 
his  dinner  by  four  o'clock,  had  gone  to  sleep  while  listening 
to  the  reading  of  the  Quotidienne.  His  head  rested  against 
the  back  of  his  armchair  by  the  fireside,  at  the  garden  end. 

The  Baroness,  sitting  on  one  of  the  old  chairs  in  front  of 


22  BEATRIX 

the  fire,  by  the  side  of  this  gnarled  trunk  of  an  ancient  tree, 
was  of  the  type  of  those  adorable  women  which  exist  nowhere 
but  in  England,  Scotland,  or  Ireland.  There  only  do  we 
find  girls  kneaded  with  milk,  golden-haired,  with  curls  twined 
by  angels'  fingers,  for  the  light  of  heaven  seems  to  ripple 
over  their  tendrils  with  every  air  that  fans  them.  Fanny 
O'Brien  was  one  of  those  sylphs,  strong  in  tenderness,  in- 
vincible in  misfortune,  as  sweet  as  the  music  of  her  voice,  as 
pure  as  the  blue  of  her  eyes,  elegantly  lovely  and  refined, 
with  the  prettiness  and  the  exquisite  flesh — satin  to  the  touch 
and  a  joy  to  the  eye — that  neither  pencil  nor  pen  can  do 
justice  to.  Beautiful  still  at  forty-two,  many  a  man  would 
have  been  happy  to  marry  her  as  he  looked  at  the  charms  of 
this  glorious,  richly-toned  autumn,  full  of  flower  and  fruit, 
and  renewed  by  dews  from  heaven.  The  Baroness  held  the 
newspaper  in  a  hand  soft  with  dimples,  and  turned-up  finger- 
tips with  squarely-cut  nails  like  those  of  an  antique  statue. 
She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  without  awkwardness  or  affec- 
tation, her  feet  thrust  forward  to  get  warm;  and  she  wore  a 
black  velvet  dress,  for  the  wind  had  turned  cold  these  last  few 
days.  The  bodice,  fitting  tight  to  the  throat,  covered  shoul- 
ders of  noble  outline  and  a  bosom  which  had  suffered  no 
disfigurement  from  having  nursed  an  only  child.  Her  hair 
fell  in  ringlets  on  each  side  of  her  face,  close  to  her  cheeks, 
in  the  English  fashion ;  a  simple  twist  on  the  top  of  her  head 
was  held  by  a  tortoise-shell  comb;  and  the  mass,  instead  of 
being  of  a  doubtful  hue,  glittered  in  the  light  like  threads  of 
brownish  gold.  She  had  made  a  plait  of  the  loose,  short  hairs 
that  grow  low  down  and  are  a  mark  of  fine  breeding.  This 
tiny  tress,  lost  in  the  rest  of  her  hair  that  was  combed  high 
on  her  head,  allowed  the  eye  to  note  with  pleasure  the  flowing 
line  from  her  neck  to  her  beautiful  shoulders.  This  little  de- 
tail shows  the  care  she  always  gave  to  her  toilet.  She  per- 
sisted in  charming  the  old  man's  eye.  What  a  delightful  and 
touching  attention ! 

When  you  see  a  woman  lavishing  in  her  home  life  the  care 
for  appearance  which  other  women  find  for  one  feeling  only, 


BEATRIX  23 

you  may  be  sure  that  she  is  a  noble  mother,  as  she  is  a  noble 
wife,  the  joy  and  flower  of  the  household;  she  understands 
her  duties  as  a  woman,  the  elegance  of  her  appearance  dwells 
in  her  soul  and  her  affections,  she  does  good  in  secret,  she 
knows  how  to  love  truly  without  ulterior  motives,  she  loves 
her  neighbor  as  she  loves  God  for  Himself.  And  it  really 
seemed  as  though  the  Virgin  in  Paradise,  under  whose  pro- 
tection she  lived,  had  rewarded  her  chaste  girlhood  and 
saintly  womanhood  by  the  side  of  the  noble  old  man  by 
throwing  over  her  a  sort  of  glory  that  preserved  her  from  the 
ravages  of  time. 

Plato  would  perhaps  have  honored  the  fading  of  her  beauty 
as  so  much  added  grace.  Her  skin,  once  so  white,  had 
acquired  those  warm  and  pearly  tones  that  painters  delight  in. 
Her  forehead,  broad  and  finely  moulded,  seemed  to  lov.e  the 
light  that  played  on  it  with  sheeny  touches.  Her  eyes  of 
turquoise-blue  gleamed  with  wonderful  softness  under  light, 
velvety  lashes.  The  drooping  lids  and  pathetic  temples  sug- 
gested some  unspeakable,  silent  melancholy;  below  the  eyes 
her  cheeks  were  dead  white,  faintly  veined  with  blue  to  the 
bridge  of  the  nose.  The  nose,  aquiline  and  thin,  had  a  touch 
of  royal  dignity,  a  reminder  of  her  noble  birth.  Her  lips, 
pure  and  delicately  cut,  were  graced  by  a  smile,  the  natural 
outcome  of  inexhaustible  good  humor.  Her  teeth  were  small 
and  white.  She  had  grown  a  little  stout,  but  her  shapely 
hips  and  slender  waist  were  not  disfigured  by  it;  the  autumn 
of  her  beauty  displayed  still  some  bright  flowers  forgotten  by 
spring  and  the  warmer  glories  of  summer.  Her  finely  moulded 
arms,  her  smooth,  lustrous  skin  had  gained  a  finer  texture; 
the  forms  had  filled  out.  And  her  open,  serene  countenance, 
with  its  faint  color,  the  purity  of  her  blue  eyes,  to  which  too 
rude  a  gaze  would  have  been  an  offence,  expressed  unchanging 
gentleness,  the  infinite  tenderness  of  the  angels. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace,  in  another  armchair, 
sat  the  old  sister  of  eighty,  in  every  particular  but  dress  the 
exact  image  of  her  brother;  she  listened  to  the  paper  while 
knitting  stockings,  for  which  sight  is  not  needed.  Her  eyes 


24  BEATRIX 

were  darkened  by  cataract,  and  she  obstinately  refused  to  be 
operated  on,  in  spite  of  her  sister-in-law's  entreaties.  She 
alone  knew  the  secret  motive  of  her  determination;  she  as- 
cribed it  to  lack  of  courage,  but  in  fact  she  did  not  choose 
that  twenty-five  louis  should  be  spent  on  her;  there  would 
have  been  so  much  less  in  the  house.  Nevertheless,  she  would 
have  liked  to  see  her  brother  again.  These  two  old  people 
were  an  admirable  foil  to  the  Baroness'  beauty.  What  woman 
would  not  have  seemed  young  and  handsome  between 
Monsieur  du  Guenic  and  his  sister? 

Mademoiselle  Zephirine,  deprived  of  sight,  knew  nothing  of 
the  changes  that  her  eighty  years  had  wrought  in  her  looks. 
Her  pallid,  hollow  face,  to  which  the  fixity  of  her  white  and 
sightless  eyes  gave  a  look  of  death,  while  three  or  four  pro- 
jecting teeth  added  an  almost  threatening  expression;  in 
which  the  deep  eye-sockets  were  circled  with  red  lines,  and  a 
few  manly  hairs,  long  since  white,  were  visible  on  the  chin 
and  lips — this  cold,  calm  face  was  framed  in  a  little  brown 
cotton  hood  quilted  like  a  counterpane,  edged  with  a  cambric 
frill,  and  tied  under  her  chin  with  ribbons  that  were  never 
fresh.  She  wore  a  short  upper  skirt  of  stout  cloth  over  a 
quilted  petticoat,  a  perfect  mattress,  within  which  lurked 
double  louis  d'or;  and  she  had  pockets  sewn  to  a  waistband, 
which  she  took  off  at  night  and  put  on  in  the  morning  as  a 
garment.  Her  figure  was  wrapped  in  the  usual  jacket  bodice 
of  Breton  women,  made  of  cloth  like  the  skirt,  and  finished 
with  a  close  pleated  frill,  of  which  the  washing  formed  the 
only  subject  of  difference  between  her  and  the  Baroness ;  she 
insisted  on  changing  it  but  once  a  week.  Out  of  the  wadded 
sleeves  of  this  jacket  came  a  pair  of  withered  but  sinewy 
arms,  and  two  ever-busy  hands,  somewhat  red,  which  made 
her  arms  look  as  white  as  poplar  wood.  These  fingers,  claw- 
like  from  the  contraction  induced  by  the  habit  of  knitting, 
were  like  a  stocking-machine  in  constant  motion ;  the  wonder 
would  have  been  to  see  them  at  rest.  Now  and  then  Made- 
moiselle du  Guenic  would  take  one  of  the  long  knitting 
needles  darned  into  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  and  push  it  in 


BEATRIX  25 

under  her  hood  among  her  white  hairs.  A  stranger  would 
have  laughed  to  see  how  calmly  she  stuck  it  in  again,  without 
any  fear  of  pricking  herself.  She  was  as  upright  as  a  steeple ; 
her  columnar  rigidity  might  be  regarded  as  one  of  those  old 
women's  vanities  which  prove  that  pride  is  a  passion  indis- 
pensable to  vitality.  She  had  a  bright  smile;  she  too  had 
done  her  duty. 

As  soon  as  Fanny  saw  that  the  Baron  was  asleep,  she  ceased 
reading.  A  sunbeam  shot  across  from  window  to  window, 
cutting  the  atmosphere  of  the  old  room  in  two  by  a  band  of 
gold,  and  casting  a  glory  on  the  almost  blackened  furniture. 
The  light  caught  the  carvings  of  the  cornice,  fluttered  over 
the  cabinets,  spread  a  shining  face  over  the  oak  table,  and 
gave  cheerfulness  to  this  softly  sombre  room,  just  as  Fanny's 
voice  brought  to  the  old  woman's  spirit  a  harmony  as 
luminous  and  gay  as  the  sunbeam.  Ere  long  the  rays  of  the 
sun  assumed  a  reddish  glow,  which  by  insensible  degrees  sank 
to  the  melancholy  hues  of  dusk.  The  Baroness  fell  into  seri- 
ous thought,  one  of  those  spells  of  perfect  silence  which  her 
old  sister-in-law  had  noticed  during  a  fortnight  past,  trying 
to  account  for  them  without  questioning  the  Baroness  in 
any  way;  but  she  was  studying  the  causes  of  this  absence  of 
mind  as  only  blind  people  can,  who  read,  as  it  were,  a  black 
book  with  white  letters,  while  every  sound  rings  through  their 
soul  as  though  it  were  an  oracular  echo.  The  old  blind 
woman,  to  whom  the  falling  darkness  now  meant  nothing, 
went  on  knitting,  and  the  silence  was  so  complete  that  the 
tick  of  her  steel  knitting  needles  could  be  heard. 

"You  have  dropped  the  paper — but  you  are  not  asleep, 
sister,"  said  the  old  woman  sagaciously. 

It  was  now  dark ;.  Mariotte  came  in  to  light  the  lamp,  and 
placed  it  on  a  square  table  in  front  of  the  fire;  then  she 
fetched  her  distaff,  her  hank  of  flax,  and  a  little  stool,  and 
sat  down  to  spin  in  the  window  recess  on  the  side  towards 
the  courtyard,  as  she  did  every  evening.  Gasselin  was  still 
busy  in  the  outbuildings,  attending  to  the  Baron's  horse  and 
that  of  Calyste,  seeing  that  all  was  right  in  the  stables,  and 


26  BEATRIX 

giving  the  two  fine  hounds  their  evening  meal.  The  glad 
barking  of  these  two  creatures  was  the  last  sound  that  roused 
the  echoes  lurking  in  the  dark  walls  of  the  house. 

These  two  horses  and  two  dogs  were  the  last  remains  of  the 
splendor  of  chivalry.  An  imaginative  man,  sitting  on  the 
outer  steps,  and  abandoning  himself  to  the  poetry  of  the 
images  still  living  in  this  dwelling,  might  have  been  startled 
at  hearing  the  dogs  and  the  tramping  hoofs  of  the  neighing 
steeds. 

Gasselin  was  one  of  the  short,  sturdy,  square-built  Breton 
race,  with  black  hair  and  tanned  faces,  silent,  slow,  as  stubborn 
as  mules,  but  always  going  on  the  road  marked  out  for  them. 
He  was  now  two-and-forty,  and  had  lived  in  the  house  twenty- 
five  years.  Mademoiselle  had  engaged  Gasselin  as  servant 
when  he  was  fifteen,  on  hearing  of  the  Baron's  marriage  and 
probable  return.  This  henchman  considered  himself  a  mem- 
ber of  the  family.  He  had  played  with  Calyste,  he  loved  the 
horses  and  dogs,  and  talked  to  them  and  petted  them  as 
though  they  were  his  own.  He  wore  a  short  jacket  of  blue 
linen  with  little  pockets  that  flapped  over  his  hips,  and  a 
waistcoat  and  trousers  of  the  same  material,  in  all  seasons 
alike,  blue  stockings  and  hobnailed  shoes.  When  the  weather 
was  very  cold  or  wet,  he  added  the  goatskin  with  the  hair  on, 
worn  in  his  province. 

Mariotte,  who  was  also  past  forty,  was  as  a  woman  exactly 
what  Gasselin  was  as  a  man.  Never  did  a  better  pair  run  in 
harness ;  the  same  color,  the  same  figure,  the  same  small,  sharp 
black  eyes.  It  was  hard  to  imagine  why  Mariotte  and  Gas- 
selin had  never  married;  but  it  might  have  been  criminal; 
they  almost  seemed  like  brother  and  sister.  Mariotte  had 
thirty  crowns  a  year  in  wages,  and  Gasselin  a  hundred  livres ; 
but  not  for  a  thousand  francs  a  year  would  they  have  quitted 
the  house  of  the  Guenics.  They  were  both  under  the  jurisdic- 
tion of  old  Mademoiselle,  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  man- 
aging the  house  from  the  time  of  the  war  in  la  Vendee  till 
her  brother's  return.  -Hence  she  had  been  greatly  upset  on 
hearing  that  her  brother  was  bringing  home  a  mistress  of  the 


BEATRIX  27 

house,  supposing  that  she  would  have  to  lay  down  the  do- 
mestic sceptre  in  favor  of  the  Baronne  du  Guenic,  whose  first 
subject  she  would  then  be. 

Mademoiselle  Zephirine  had  been  very  agreeably  surprised 
on  finding  that  Miss  Fanny  O'Brien  was  born  to  a  lofty  posi- 
tion, a  girl  who  detested  the  minute  cares  of  housekeeping, 
and  who,  like  all  noble  souls,  would  have  preferred  dry  bread 
from  the  bakers  to  any  food  she  had  to  prepare  herself;  ca- 
pable of  fulfilling  all  the  duties  of  motherhood,  strong  to  en- 
dure every  necessary  privation,  but  without  energy  for  com- 
monplace industry.  When  the  Baron,  in  the  name  of  his 
shrinking  wife,  begged  his  sister  to  rule  the  house,  the  old 
maid  embraced  the  Baroness  as  her  sister;  she  made  a 
daughter  of  her,  she  adored  her,  happy  in  being  allowed  to 
continue  her  care  of  governing  the  house,  and  keeping  it  with 
incredible  rigor  and  most  economical  habits,  which  she  re- 
laxed only  on  great  occasions,  such  as  her  sister-in-law's  con- 
finement and  feeding,  and  everything  that  could  affect 
Calyste,  the  worshiped  son  of  the  house. 

Though  the  two  servants  were  accustomed  to  this  strict 
rule,  and  needed  no  telling;  though  they  took  more  care  of 
their  master's  interests  than  of  their  own,  still  Mademoiselle 
Zephirine  had  an  eye  on  everything.  Her  attention  having 
nothing  to  divert  it,  she  was  the  woman  to  know  without 
going  to  look,  how  large  the  pile  of  walnuts  should  be  in  the 
loft,  and  how  much  corn  was  left  in  the  stable-bin  without 
plunging  her  sinewy  arm  into  its  depths.  She  wore  a  boat- 
swain's whistle  attached  by  a  string  to  her  waistband,  and 
called  Mariotte  by  whistling  once,  and  Gasselin  by  whistling 
twice.  Gasselin's  chief  happiness  consisted  in  cultivating  the 
garden  and  raising  fine  fruit  and  good  vegetables.  He  had 
so  little  to  do  that  but  for  his  gardening  he  would  have  been 
bored  to  death.  When  he  had  groomed  the  horses  in  the 
morning  he  polished  the  floors,  and  cleaned  the  two  ground- 
floor  rooms;  he  had  little  to  do  for  his  masters.  So  in  the 
garden  you  could  not  have  found  a  weed  or  a  noxious  insect. 
Sometimes  Gasselin  might  be  seen  standing  motionless  and 


28  BEATRIX 

bareheaded  in  the  sunshine,  watching  for  a  field-rat  or  the 
dreadful  larva?  of  the  cockchafer ;  then  he  would  rush  in  with 
a  child's  glee  to  show  the  master  the  creature  he  had  spent  a 
week  in  catching.  On  fast  days  it  was  his  delight  to  go  to  le 
Croisic  to  buy  fish,  cheaper  there  than  at  Guerande. 

Never  was  there  a  family  more  united,  on  better  terms,  or 
more  inseparable,  than  this  pious  and  noble  household. 
Masters  and  servants  seemed  to  have  been  made  for  each 
other.  In  five-and-twenty  years  there  had  never  been  a 
trouble  or  a  discord.  The  only  sorrows  they  had  known  were 
the  child's  little  ailments,  and  the  only  anxieties  had  come  of 
the  events  of  1814,  and  again  of  1830.  If  the  same  things 
were  invariably  done  at  the  same  hours,  if  the  food  varied 
only  with  the  changes  of  the  seasons,  this  monotony,  like  that 
of  nature,  with  its  alternation  of  cloud,  rain,  and  sunshine, 
was  made  endurable  by  the  affection  that  filled  every  heart, 
and  was  all  the  more  helpful  and  beneficent  because  it  was  the 
outcome  of  natural  laws. 

When  twilight  was  ended,  Gasselin  came  into  the  room  and 
respectfully  inquired  whether  he  were  wanted. 

"After  prayers  you  can  go  out,  or  go  to  bed,"  said  the 
Baron,  rousing  himself,  "unless  Madame  or  my  sister — 

The  two  ladies  nodded  agreement.  Gasselin,  seeing  them 
all  rise  to  kneel  on  their  chairs,  fell  on  his  knees.  Mariotte 
knelt  on  her  stool.  Old  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic  said  prayers 
aloud. 

As  she  finished,  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  outer  gate. 
Gasselin  went  to  open  it. 

"It  is  Monsieur  le  Cure,  no  doubt ;  he  is  almost  always  the 
first,"  remarked  Mariotte. 

And,  in  fact,  they  all  recognized  the  footstep  of  the  parish 
priest  on  the  resonant  steps  to  the  balcony  entrance.  The 
Cure  bowed  respectfully  to  the  three,  addressing  the  Baron 
and  the  two  ladies  with  the  unctuous  civility  that  a  priest  has 
at  his  command.  In  reply  to  an  absent-minded  "Good-even- 
ing" from  the  mistress  of  the  house,  he  gave  her  a  look  of 
priestly  scrutiny. 


BEATRIX  29 

"Are  you  uneasy,  madame,  or  unwell?"  he  asked. 

"Thank  you,  no !"  said  she. 

Monsieur  Grimont,  a  man  of  about  fifty,  of  middle  height, 
wrapped  in  his  gown,  beneath  which  a  pair  of  thick  shoes  with 
silver  buckles  were  visible,  showed  above  his  bands  a  fat  face, 
on  the  whole  fair,  but  sallow.  His  hands  were  plump.  His 
abbot-like  countenance  had  something  of  the  Dutch  burgo- 
master in  its  calm  complexion  and  the  tones  of  the  flesh,  and 
something,  too,  of  the  Breton  peasant  in  its  straight  black 
hair  and  sparkling  black  eyes,  which  nevertheless  were  under 
the  control  of  priestly  decorum.  His  cheerfulness,  like  that 
of  all  people  whose  conscience  is  calm  and  pure,  consented  to 
jest.  There  was  nothing  anxious  or  forbidding  in  his  look, 
as  in  that  of  those  unhappy  priests  whose  maintenance  or 
power  is  disputed  by  their  parishioners,  and  who  instead  of 
being,  as  .Napoleon  so  grandly  said,  the  moral  leaders  of  the 
people  and  natural  justices  of  the  peace,  are  regarded  as  ene- 
mies. The  most  unbelieving  of  strangers  who  should  see 
Monsieur  Grimont  walking  through  Guerande  would  have 
recognized  him  as  the  sovereign  of  the  Catholic  town;  but 
this  sovereign  abdicated  his  spiritual  rule  before  the  feudal 
supremacy  of  the  du  Guenic  family.  In  this  drawing-room 
he  was  as  a  chaplain  in  the  hall  of  his  liege.  In  church,  as 
he  gave  the  blessing,  his  hand  always  turned  first  towards 
the  chapel  of  the  House,  where  their  hand  and  sword  and 
their  motto  were  carved  on  the  keystone  of  the  vaulting. 

"I  thought  that  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  was  here,"  said 
the  Cure,  seating  himself,  as  he  kissed  the  Baroness*  hand. 
"She  is  losing  her  good  habits.  Is  the  fashion  for  dissipation 
spreading  ?  For  I  observe  that  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  is  at  les 
Touches  again  this  evening." 

"Say  nothing  of  his  visits  there  before  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel,"  exclaimed  the  old  lady  in  an  undertone. 

"Ah !  mademoiselle,"  Mariotte  put  in,  "how  can  you  keep 
the  whole  town  from  talking?" 

"And  what  do  they  say  ?"  asked  the  Baroness. 

"All  the  girls  and  the  old  gossips — everybody,  in  short — 
is  saying  that  he  is  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  des  Touches." 


30  BEATRIX 

"A  young  fellow  so  handsome  as  Calyste  is  only  following 
his  calling  by  making  himself  loved,"  said  the  Baron. 

"Here  is  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,"  said  Mariotte. 

The  gravel  in  the  courtyard  was,  in  fact,  heard  to  crunch 
under  this  lady's  deliberate  steps,  heralded  by  a  lad  bearing 
a  lantern.  On  seeing  this  retainer,  Mariotte  transferred 
her  stool  and  distaff  to  the  large  hall,  where  she  could  chat 
with  him  by  the  light  of  the  rosin  candle  that  burned  at  the 
cost  of  the  rich  and  stingy  old  maid,  thus  saving  her  master's. 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  was  a  slight,  thin  woman,  as 
yellow  as  the  parchment  of  an  archive,  and  wrinkled  like  a 
lake  swept  by  the  wind,  with  gray  eyes,  large,  prominent  teeth, 
and  hands  like  a  man's ;  she  was  short,  certainly  crooked,  and 
perhaps  even  hump-backed ;  but  no  one  had  ever  been  curious 
to  study  her  perfections  or  imperfections.  Dressed  in  the 
same  style  as  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic,  she  made  quite  a  com- 
motion in  a  huge  mass  of  petticoats  and  frills  when  she  tried 
to  find  one  of  the  two  openings  in  her  gown  by  which  she  got 
at  her  pockets ;  the  strangest  clinking  of  keys  and  money  was 
then  heard  from  beneath  these  skirts.  All  the  iron  parapher- 
nalia of  a  good  housewife  was  to  be  found  on  one  side,  and 
on  the  other  her  silver  snuff-box,  her  thimble,  her  knitting, 
and  other  jangling  objects. 

Instead  of  the  quilted  hood  worn  by  Mademoiselle  du 
Guenic,  she  had  a  green  bonnet,  which  she  no  doubt  wore 
when  she  went  to  look  at  her  melons ;  like  them,  it  had  faded 
from  green  to  yellow,  and  as  for  its  shape,  fashion  has  lately 
revived  it  in  Paris  under  the  name  of  Bibi.  This  bonnet  was 
made  under  her  own  eye  by  her  nieces,  of  green  sarcenet  pur- 
chased at  Guerande,  on  a  shape  she  bought  new  every  five 
years  at  Nantes — for  she  allowed  it  the  life  of  an  administra- 
tion. Her  nieces  also  made  her  gowns,  cut  by  an  immemorial 
pattern.  The  old  maid  still  used  the  crutch-handled  cane 
which  ladies  carried  at  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Marie- 
Antoinette.  She  was  of  the  first  nobility  of  Brittany.  On 
her  shield  figured  the  ermines  of  the  ancient  duchy ;  the  illus- 
trious Breton  house  of  Pen-Hoel  ended  in  her  and  her  sister. 


BEATRIX  31 

This  younger  sister  had  married  a  Kergarouet,  who,  in 
Bpite  of  the  disapprobation  of  the  neighbors,  had  added  the 
name  of  Pen-Hoel  to  his  own,  and  called  himself  the  Vicomte 
de  Kergarouet-Pen-Hoel. 

"Heaven  has  punished  him,"  the  old  maid  would  say.  "He 
has  only  daughters,  and  the  name  of  Kergarouet-Pen-Hoel 
will  become  extinct." 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  enjoyed  an  income  of  about 
seven  thousand  francs  from  land.  For  thirty-six  years,  since 
she  had  come  of  age,  she  herself  had  managed  her  estates ;  she 
rode  out  to  inspect  them,  and  on  every  point  displayed  the 
firmness  of  will  characteristic  of  deformed  persons.  Her 
avarice  was  the  amazement  of  all  for  ten  leagues  round,  but 
viewed  with  no  disapprobation.  She  kept  one  woman  servant 
and  this  lad ;  all  her  expenditure,  not  inclusive  of  taxes,  did 
not  come  to  more  than  a  thousand  francs  a  year.  Hence  she 
was  the  object  of  the  most  flattering  attentions  from  the 
Kergarouet-Pen-Hoels,  who  spent  the  winter  at  Nantes,  and 
the  summer  at  their  country-house  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire 
just  below  Indret.  It  was  known  that  she  intended  to  leave 
her  fortune  and  her  savings  to  that  one  of  her  nieces  whom 
she  might  prefer.  Every  three  months  one  of  the  four 
Demoiselles  de  Kergarouet  came  to  spend  a  few  days  with 
her. 

Jacqueline  de  Pen-Hoel,  a  great  friend  of  Zephirine  du 
Guenic's,  and  brought  up  in  the  faith  and  fear  of  the  Breton 
dignity  of  the  Guenics,  had  conceived  a  plan,  since  Calyste's 
birth,  of  securing  her  wealth  to  this  youth  by  getting  him  to 
marry  one  of  these  nieces,  to  be  bestowed  on  him  by  the 
Vicomtesse  de  Kergarouet-Pen-Hoel.  She  proposed  to  repur- 
chase some  of  the  best  land  for  the  Guenics  by  paying  off  the 
farmers'  loans.  When  avarice  has  an  end  in  view,  it  ceases 
to  be  a  vice ;  it  is  the  instrument  of  virtue ;  its  stern  privations 
become  a  constant  sacrifice;  in  short,  it  has  greatness  of 
purpose  concealed  beneath  its  meanness.  Zephirine  was  per- 
haps in  Jacqueline's  secret.  Perhaps,  too,  the  Baroness,  whose 
whole  intelligence  was  absorbed  in  love  for  her  son  and  tender 


32  BEATRIX 

care  for  his  father,  may  have  guessed  something  when  she 
saw  with  what  pertinacious  perseverance  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel  would  bring  with  her,  day  after  day,  Charlotte  de 
Kergarouet,  her  favorite  niece,  now  fifteen.  The  priest, 
Monsieur  Grimont,  was  undoubtedly  in  her  confidence;  he 
helped  the  old  lady  to  invest  her  money  well.  But  if 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had  had  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  in  gold — the  sum  at  which  her  savings  were  commonly 
estimated ;  if  she  had  had  ten  times  more  land  than  she  owned, 
the  du  Guenics  would  never  have  allowed  themselves  to  pay 
her  such  attention  as  might  lead  the  old  maid  to  fancy  that 
they  were  thinking  of  her  fortune.  With  an  admirable  instinct 
of  truly  Breton  pride,  Jacqueline  de  Pen-Hoel,  gladly  accept- 
ing the  supremacy  assumed  by  her  old  friends  Zephirine  and 
the  du  Guenics,  always  expressed  herself  honored  by  a  visit 
when  the  descendant  of  Irish  Kings  and  Zephirine  conde- 
scended to  call  on  her.  She  went  so  far  as  to  conceal  with 
care  the  little  extravagance  which  she  winked  at  every  evening 
by  permitting  her  boy  to  burn  an  oribus  at  the  du  Guenics, — 
the  ginger-bread  colored  candle  which  is  commonly  used  in 
various  districts  in  the  West.  This  rich  old  maid  was  indeed 
aristocracy,  pride,  and  dignity  personified. 

At  the  moment  when  the  reader  is  studying  her  portrait, 
an  indiscretion  on  the  part  of  the  Cure  had  betrayed  the  fact 
that,  on  the  evening  when  the  old  Baron,  the  young  Chevalier, 
and  Gasselin  stole  away  armed  with  swords  and  fowling-pieces 
to  join  MADAME  in  la  Vendee — to  Fanny's  extreme  terror, 
and  to  the  great  joy  of  the  Bretons — Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel  had  placed  in  the  Baron's  hands  a  sum  of  ten  thousand 
francs  in  gold,  an  immense  sacrifice,  supplemented  by  ten 
thousand  francs  more,  the  fruits  of  a  tithe  collected  by  the 
Cure,  which  the  old  partisan  was  requested  to  lay  at  the  feet 
of  Henry  V.'s  mother,  in  the  name  of  the  Pen-Hoels  and  of 
the  parish  of  Guerande. 

Meanwhile,  she  treated  Calyste  with  the  airs  of  a  woman 
who  believes  she  is  in  her  rights;  her  schemes  justified  her 
in  keeping  an  eye  on  him;  not  that  she  was  strait-laced  in 


BEATRIX  33 

her  ideas  as  to  questions  of  gallantry — she  had  all  the  indul- 
gence of  a  woman  of  the  old  regime ;  but  she  had  a  horror  of 
Eevolutionary  manners.  Calyste,  who  might  have  risen  in 
her  esteem  by  intrigues  with  Breton  women,  would  have 
fallen  immensely  if  she  had  taken  up  what  she  called  the  new- 
fangled ways.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  who  would  have 
unearthed  a  sum  of  money  to  pay  off  a  girl  he  had  seduced, 
would  have  regarded  Calyste  as  a  reckless  spendthrift  if  she 
had  seen  him  driving  a  tilbury,  or  heard  him  talk  of  setting 
out  for  Paris.  And  if  she  had  found  him  reading  some 
impious  review  or  newspaper,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  what 
she  might  have  done.  To  her,  new  notions  meant  the  rotation 
of  crops,  sheer  ruin  under  the  guise  of  improvements  and 
method,  lands  ultimately  mortgaged  as  a  result  of  experi- 
ments. To  her,  thrift  was  the  real  way  to  make  a  fortune; 
good  management  consisted  in  filling  her  outhouses  with  buck- 
wheat, rye,  and  hemp,  in  waiting  for  prices  to  rise  at  the  risk 
of  being  known  to  force  the  market,  and  in  resolutely  hoard- 
ing her  corn-sacks.  As  it  happened,  strangely  enough,  she 
had  often  met  with  good  bargains  that  confirmed  her  in  her 
principles.  She  was  thought  cunning,  but  she  was  not  really 
clever ;  she  had  only  the  methodical  habits  of  a  Dutch  woman, 
the  caution  of  a  cat,  the  pertinacity  of  a  priest;  and  this,  in 
a  land  of  routine,  was  as  good  as  the  deepest  perspicacity. 

"Shall  we  see  Monsieur  du  Halga  this  evening?"  asked 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  taking  off  her  knitted  worsted 
mittens  after  exchanging  the  usual  civilities. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle,  I  saw  him  airing  his  dog  in  the  Mall," 
replied  the  Cure. 

"Then  our  mouche  will  be  lively  this  evening,"  said  she. 
"We  were  but  four  last  night." 

On  hearing  the  word  mouche,  the  priest  rose,  and  brought 
out  of  a  drawer  of  one  of  the  cabinets  a  small,  round  basket 
of  fine  willow,  some  ivory  counters  as  yellow  as  Turkish  to- 
bacco, from  twenty  years'  service,  and  a  pack  of  cards  as 
greasy  as  those  of  the  custom-house  officers  of  Saint-Nazaire, 
who  only  have  a  new  pack  once  a  fortnight.  The  Abbe  him- 


34  BEATRIX 

self  sorted  out  the  proper  number  of  counters  for  each  player, 
and  put  the  basket  by  the  lamp  in  the  middle  of  the  table, 
with  childish  eagerness  and  the  manner  of  a  man  accustomed 
to  fulfil  this  little  task.  A  loud  rap  in  military  style  presently 
echoed  through  the  silent  depths  of  the  old  house.  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-HoeTs  little  servant  went  solemnly  to  open 
the  gate.  Before  long,  the  tall,  lean  figure  of  the  Chevalier 
du  Halga,  formerly  flag-captain  under  Admiral  de  Kerga- 
rouet,  was  seen,  carefully  dressed  to  suit  the  season,  a  black 
object  in  the  dusk  that  still  prevailed  outside. 

"Come  in,  Chevalier,"  cried  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 

"The  altar  is  prepared !"  said  the  priest. 

Du  Halga,  whose  health  was  poor,  wore  flannel  for  the 
rheumatism,  a  black  silk  cap  to  protect  his  head  against  the 
fog,  and  a  spencer  to  guard  his  precious  chest  from  the  sud- 
den blasts  of  wind  that  refresh  the  atmosphere  of  Guerande. 
He  always  went  about  armed  with  a  rattan  to  drive  off  dogs 
when  they  tried  to  make  inopportune  love  to  his  own,  which 
was  a  lady.  This  man,  as  minutely  particular  as  any  fine 
lady,  put  out  by  the  smallest  obstacles,  speaking  low  to  spare 
the  voice  remaining  to  him,  had  been  in  his  day  one  of  the 
bravest  and  most  capable  officers  of  the  King's  navy.  He  had 
been  honored  with  the  confidence  of  the  Bailli  de  Suffren, 
and  the  Comte  de  Portenduere's  friendship.  His  valor,  as 
captain  of  Admiral  de  Kergarouet's  flagship,  was  scored  in 
legible  characters  on  his  face,  seamed  with  scars.  No  one, 
on  looking  at  him,  could  have  recognized  the  voice  that  had 
roared  down  the  storm,  the  eye  that  had  swept  the  horizon, 
the  indomitable  courage  of  a  Breton  seaman.  He  did  not 
smoke,  he  never  swore;  he  was  as  gentle  and  quiet  as  a  girl, 
and  devoted  himself  to  his  dog  Thisbe  and  her  various  little 
whims  with  the  absorption  of  an  old  woman.  He  gave  every 
one  a  high  idea  of  his  departed  gallantry.  He  never  spoke 
of  the  startling  acts  which  had  amazed  the  Comte  d'Estaing. 

Though  he  stooped  like  a  pensioner,  and  walked  as  though 
he  feared  to  tread  on  eggs  at  every  step,  though  he  com- 
plained of  a  cool  breeze,  of  a  scorching  sun,  of  a  damp  fog, 


BEATRIX  35 

he  displayed  fine  white  teeth  set  in  red  gums,  which  were 
reassuring  as  to  his  health;  and,  indeed,  his  complaint  must 
have  been  an  expensive  one,  for  it  consisted  in  eating  four 
meals  a  day  of  monastic  abundance.  His  frame,  like  the 
Baron's,  was  large-boned  and  indestructibly  strong,  covered 
with  parchment  stretched  tightly  over  the  bones,  like  the 
coat  of  an  Arab  horse  that  shines  in  the  sun  over  its  sinews. 
His  complexion  had  preserved  the  tanned  hue  it  had  acquired 
in  his  voyages  to  India,  but  he  had  brought  back  no  ideas  and 
no  reminiscences.  He  had  emigrated;  he  had  lost  all  his 
fortune ;  then  he  had  recovered  the  Cross  of  Saint-Louis  and 
a  pension  of  two  thousand  francs,  legitimately  earned  by  his 
services,  and  paid  out  of  the  fund  for  naval  pensions.  The 
harmless  hypochondria  that  led  him  to  invent  a  thousand 
imaginary  ailments  was  easily  accounted  for  by  his  sufferings 
during  the  emigration.  He  had  served  in  the  Russian  navy 
till  the  day  when  the  Emperor  Alexander  wanted  him  to  serve 
against  France;  he  then  retired  and  went  to  live  at  Odessa, 
near  the  Due  de  Richelieu,  with  whom  he  came  home,  and 
who  procured  the  payment  of  the  pension  due  to  this  noble 
wreck  of  the  old  Breton  navy. 

At  the  death  of  Louis  XVIII.  he  came  home  to  Guerande, 
and  was  chosen  mayor  of  the  town.  The  Cure,  the  Chevalier, 
and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had  been  for  fifteen  years  in 
the  habit  of  spending  their  evenings  at  the  Hotel  du  Guenic, 
whither  also  came  a  few  persons  of  good  family  from  the 
town  and  immediate  neighborhood.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the 
Guenic  family  were  the  leaders  of  this  little  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  of  the  district,  into  which  no  official  was  admitted 
who  had  been  appointed  to  his  post  by  the  new  Government. 
For  six  years  past  the  Cure  invariably  coughed  at  the  critical 
words  of  Domine,  salvum  fac  regent.  Politics  always  stuck 
at  that  point  in  Guerande. 

Mouche  (a  sort  of  loo)  is  a  game  played  with  five  cards  in 
each  hand  and  a  turn-up.  The  turned-up  card  decides  the 
trumps.  At  every  fresh  deal  each  player  is  at  liberty  to  play 


36  BEATRIX 

or  to  retire.  If  he  throws  away  his  hand,  hc  loses  only  his 
deposit ;  for  as  long  as  no  fines  have  been  paid  into  the  pool, 
each  player  must  contribute  to  it.  Those  who  play  must  make 
a  trick,  paid  for  in  proportion  to  the  contents  of  the  pool; 
if  there  are  five  sous  in  the  trick,  he  pays  one  sou.  The 
player  who  fails  to  pay  is  looed;  he  then  owes  as  much  as  the 
pool  contains,  which  increases  it  for  the  following  deal.  The 
fines  due  are  written  down;  they  are  added  to  the  pools  one 
after  another  in  diminishing  order,  the  heaviest  before  the 
lesser  sums.  Those  who  decline  to  play  show  their  cards  dur- 
ing the  play,  but  they  count  for  nothing.  The  players  may 
discard  and  draw  from  the  pack,  as  at  ecarte,  in  order  of 
seniority.  Each  player  may  change  as  many  cards  as  he  likes, 
so  the  eldest  and  the  second  hands  may  use  up  the  pack  be- 
tween them.  The  turned-up  card  belongs  to  the  dealer,  who 
is  the  youngest  hand;  he  has  a  right  to  exchange  it  for  any 
card  in  his  own  hand.  One  terrible  card  takes  all  others,  and 
is  known  as  mistigris;  mistigris  is  the  knave  of  clubs.  This 
game,  though  so  excessively  simple,  is  not  devoid  of  interest. 
The  covetousness  natural  to  man  finds  scope  in  it,  as  well  as 
some  diplomatic  finessing  and  play  of  expression. 

At  the  Hotel  du  Guenic  each  player  purchased  twenty 
counters  for  five  sous,  by  which  the  stake  amounted  to  five 
liards  each  deal,  an  important  sum  in  the  eyes  of  these  gam- 
blers. With  very  great  luck  a  player  might  win  fifty  sous, 
more  than  any  one  in  Guerande  spent  in  a  day.  And  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel  came  to  this  game — of  which  the  sim- 
plicity is  unsurpassed  in  the  nomenclature  of  the  Academy, 
unless  by  that  of  Beggar  my  Neighbor — with  an  eagerness  as 
great  as  that  of  a  sportsman  at  a  great  hunting  party. 
Mademoiselle  Zephirine,  who  was  the  Baroness'  partner,  at- 
tached no  less  importance  to  the  game  of  mouche.  To  risk  a 
Hard  for  the  chance  of  winning  five,  deal  after  deal,  consti- 
tuted a  serious  financial  speculation  to  the  thrifty  old 
woman,  and  she  threw  herself  into  it  with  as  much  moral 
energy  as  the  greediest  speculator  puts  into  gambling  on  the 
Bourse  for  the  rise  and  fall  of  shares. 


BEATRIX  S7 

By  a  diplomatic  convention,  dating  from  September,  1825, 
after  a  certain  evening  when  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had 
lost  thirty-seven  sous,  the  game  was  ended  as  soon  as  any 
one  expressed  a  wish  to  that  effect  after  losing  ten  sous.  Po- 
liteness would  not  allow  of  a  player  being  put  to  the  little 
discomfort  of  looking  on  at  the  game  without  taking  part  in 
it.  But  every  passion  has  its  Jesuitical  side.  The  Chevalier 
du  Halga  and  the  Baron,  two  old  politicians,  had  found  a  way 
of  evading  the  act.  When  all  the  players  were  equally  eager 
to  prolong  an  exciting  game,  the  brave  Chevalier,  one  of  those 
bachelors  who  are  prodigal  and  rich  by  the  expenses  they 
save,  always  offered  to  lend  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  or 
Mademoiselle  Zephirine  ten  counters  when  either  of  them 
had  lost  her  five  sous,  on  the  understanding  that  she  should 
repay  them  if  she  should  win.  An  old  bachelor  might  allow 
himself  such  an  act  of  gallantry  to  the  unmarried  ladies. 
The  Baron  also  would  offer  the  old  maids  ten  counters,  under 
pretence  of  not  stopping  the  game.  The  avaricious  old 
women  always  accepted,  not  without  some  pressing,  after  the 
usage  and  custom  of  old  maids.  But  to  allow  themselves  such 
a  piece  of  extravagance,  the  Baron  and  the  Chevalier  must 
first  have  won,  otherwise  the  offer  bore  the  character  of  an 
affront. 

This  game  was  in  its  glory  when  a  young  Mademoiselle  de 
Kergarouet  was  on  a  visit  to  her  aunt — Kergarouet  only,  for 
the  family  had  never  succeeded  in  getting  itself  called  Ker- 
garouet-Pen-Hoel  by  anybody  here,  not  even  by  the  servants, 
who  had  indeed  peremptory  orders  on  this  point.  The  aunt 
spoke  of  the  mouche  parties  at  the  du  Guenics'  as  a  great 
treat.  The  girl  was  enjoined  to  make  herself  agreeable — an 
easy  matter  enough  when  she  saw  the  handsome  Calyste,  on 
whom  the  four  young  ladies  all  doted.  These  damsels, 
brought  up  in  the  midst  of  modern  civilization,  thought  little 
of  five  sous,  and  paid  fine  after  fine.  Then  fines  would  be 
scored  up  to  a  total  sometimes  of  five  francs,  on  a  scale  rang- 
ing from  two  sous  and  a  half  up  to  ten  sous.  These  were 
evenings  of  intense  excitement  to  the  old  blind  woman.  The 


38  BEATRIX 

tricks  were  called  mains  (or  hands)  at  Guerande.  The  Bar- 
oness would  press  her  foot  on  her  sister-in-law's  as  many  times 
as  she  had,  as  she  believed,  tricks  in  her  hand.  The  question 
of  play  or  no  play  on  occasions  when  the  pool  was  full  led  to 
secret  struggles  in  which  covetousness  contended  with  alarms. 
The  players  would  ask  each  other,  "Are  you  coming  in?" 
with  feelings  of  envy  of  those  who  had  good  enough  cards  to 
tempt  fate,  and  spasms  of  despair  when  they  were  forced  to 
retire. 

If  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  who  was  commonly  thought 
foolhardy,  was  lucky  in  her  daring  when  her  aunt  had  won 
nothing,  she  was  treated  with  coldness  when  they  got  home, 
and  had  a  little  lecture :  "She  was  too  decided  and  forward ; 
a  young  girl  ought  not  to  challenge  persons  older  than  herself ; 
she  had  an  overbold  manner  of  seizing  the  pool,  or  declaring 
to  play ;  a  young  person  should  show  more  reserve  and  mod- 
esty in  her  manners;  it  was  not  seemly  to  laugh  at  the  mis- 
fortunes of  others,"  and  so  forth. 

Then  perennial  jests,  repeated  a  thousand  times  a  year, 
but  always  fresh,  turned  on  the  carriage  of  the  basket  when 
the  pool  overfilled  it.  They  must  get  oxen  to  draw  it,  ele- 
phants, horses,  asses,  dogs.  And  at  the  end  of  twenty  years 
no  one  noticed  the  staleness  of  the  joke;  it  always  provoked 
the  same  smile.  It  was  the  same  thing  with  the  remarks 
caused  by  the  annoyance  of  seeing  a  pool  taken  from  those 
who  had  helped  to  fill  it  and  got  nothing  out.  The  cards  were 
dealt  with  automatic  slowness.  They  talked  in  chest-tones. 
And  these  respectable  and  high-born  personages  were  so  de- 
lightfully mean  as  to  suspect  each  other's  play.  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel  almost  always  accused  the  Cure  of  cheating  when 
he  won  a  pool. 

"But  what  is  so  odd,"  the  Cure  would  say,  "is  that  I  never 
cheat  when  I  am  fined." 

No  one  laid  down  a  card  without  profound  meditation, 
without  keen  scrutiny,  and  more  or  less  astute  hints,  ingenious 
and  searching  remarks.  The  deals  were  interrupted,  you  may 
be  sure,  by  gossip  as  to  what  was  going  on  in  the  town,  or 


BEATRIX  39 

discussions  on  politics.  Frequently  the  players  would  pause 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  their  cards  held  in  a  fan  against 
their  chest,  absorbed  in  talk.  Then,  if  after  such  an  interrup- 
tion a  counter  was  short  in  the  pool,  everybody  was  certain 
that  his  or  her  counter  was  not  missing ;  and  generally  it  was 
the  Chevalier  who  made  up  the  loss,  under  general  accusations 
of  thinking  of  nothing  but  the  singing  in  his  ears,  his  head- 
ache, or  his  fads,  and  of  forgetting  to  put  in.  As  soon  as  he 
had  paid  up  a  counter,  old  Zephirine  or  the  cunning  hunch- 
back was  seized  with  remorse ;  they  then  fancied  that  perhaps 
the  fault  was  theirs;  they  thought,  they  doubted;  but,  after 
all,  the  Chevalier  could  afford  the  little  loss !  The  Baron 
often  quite  forgot  what  he  was  about  when  the  misfortunes 
of  the  Royal  family  came  under  discussion. 

Sometimes  the  game  resulted  in  a  way  that  was  invariably 
a  surprise  to  the  players,  who  each  counted  on  being  the  win- 
ner. After  a  certain  number  of  rounds  each  had  won  back  his 
counters,  and  went  away,  the  hour  being  late,  without  loss  or 
profit,  but  not  without  excitement.  On  these  depressing  even- 
ings the  mouche  was  abused ;  it  had  not  been  interesting ;  the 
players  accused  the  game,  as  negroes  beat  the  reflection  of 
the  moon  in  water  when  the  weather  is  bad.  The  evening 
had  been  dull ;  they  had  toiled  so  hard  for  so  little. 

When,  on  their  first  visit,  the  Vicomte  de  Kergarouet  and 
his  wife  spoke  of  whist  and  boston  as  games  more  interesting 
than  mouche,  and  were  encouraged  to  teach  them  by  the 
Baroness,  who  was  bored  to  death  by  mouche,  the  company 
lent  themselves  to  the  innovation,  not  without  strong  protest ; 
but  it  was  impossible  to  make  these  games  understood;  and 
as  soon  as  the  Kergarouets  had  left,  they  were  spoken  of  as 
overwhelmingly  abstruse,  as  algebraical  puzzles,  and  incredibly 
difficult.  They  all  preferred  their  beloved  mouche,  their  un- 
pretentious little  mouche.  And  mouche  triumphed  over  the 
modern  games,  as  old  things  constantly  triumph  over  new  in 
Brittany. 

While  the  Cure  dealt  the  cards,  the  Baroness  was  asking 


40  BEATRIX 

the  Chevalier  du  Halga  the  same  questions  as  she  had  asked 
the  day  before  as  to  his  health.  The  Chevalier  made  it  a 
point  of  honor  to  have  some  new  complaint.  Though  the 
questions  were  always  the  same,  the  Captain  had  a  great  ad- 
vantage in  his  replies.  To-day  his  false  ribs  had  been  trou- 
bling him.  The  remarkable  thing  was  that  the  worthy  man 
never  complained  of  his  wounds.  Everything  serious  he 
was  prepared  for,  he  understood  it;  but  fantastic  ailments — 
pains  in  his  head,  dogs  devouring  his  inside,  bells  ringing  in 
his  ears,  and  a  thousand  other  crotchets  worried  him  greatly ; 
he  set  up  as  an  incurable,  with  all  the  more  reason  that  physi- 
cians know  no  remedy  for  maladies  that  are  non-existent. 

"Yesterday,  I  fancy  you  had  pains  in  your  legs  ?"  said  the 
Cure  very  seriously. 

"They  move  about,"  replied  du  Halga. 

"Legs  in  your  false  ribs  ?"  asked  Mademoiselle  Zephirine. 

"And  made  no  halt  on  the  way?"  said  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel  with  a  smile. 

The  Chevalier  bowed  gravely,-  with  a  negative  shake  of 
the  head,  not  without  fun  in  it,  which  would  have  proved  to 
an  observer  that  in  his  youth  the  seaman  must  have  been 
witty,  loved,  and  loving.  His  fossilized  life  at  Guerande  cov- 
ered perhaps  many  memories.  As  he  stood  planted  on  his 
heron  legs  in  the  sun,  stupidly  watching  the  sea,  or  his  dog 
sporting  on  the  Mall,  perhaps  he  was  alive  again  in  the 
Earthly  Paradise  of  a  past  rich  in  remembrance. 

"So  the  old  Due  de  Lenoncourt  is  dead  I"  said  the  Baron, 
recalling  the  passage  in  the  Quotidienne  at  which  his  wife 
had  stopped.  "Well,  well,  the  first  gentleman-in-waiting  had 
mot  long  to  wait  before  following  his  master.  I  shall  soon  go 
too." 

"My  dear !  my  dear !"  said  his  wife,  gently  patting  his  lean 
and  bony  hand. 

"Let  him  talk,  sister,"  said  Ze'phirine.  "So  long  as  I  am 
above  ground,  he  will  not  go  under  ground.  He  is  younger 
than  I  am." 

A  cheerful  smile  brightened  the  old  woman's  face  when 


BEATRIX  41 

the  Baron  dropped  a  reflection  of  this  kind,  the  players  and 
callers  would  look  at  each  other  anxiously,  grieved  to  find 
the  King  of  Guerande  out  of  spirits.  Those  who  had  come  to 
see  him  would  say  as  they  went  away,  "Monsieur  du  Guenic 
is  much  depressed;  have  you  noticed  how  much  he  sleeps?" 
And  next  day  all  Guerande  would  be  talking  of  it:  "The 
Baron  du  Guenic  is  failing."  The  words  began  the  conver- 
sation in  every  house  in  the  place. 

"And  is  Thisbe  well?7'  asked  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
as  soon  as  the  deal  was  over. 

"The  poor  little  beast  is  like  me,"  said  the  Chevalier. 
"Her  nerves  are  out  of  order ;  she  is  always  holding  up  one  of 
her  legs  as  she  runs. — Like  this." 

And  in  showing  how  Thisbe  ran,  by  bending  his  arm  as  he 
raised  it,  the  Chevalier  allowed  his  neighbor,  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel,  to  see  his  cards;  she  wanted  to  know  whether 
he  had  trumps  or  mistigris.  This  was  a  first  finesse  to  which 
he  fell  a  prey. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  Baroness,  "the  tip  of  Monsieur  le 
Cure's  nose  has  turned  pale,  he  must  have  mistigris !" 

The  joy  of  having  mistigris  was  so  great  tp  the  Cure,  as  to 
all  the  players,  that  the  poor  priest  could  not  disguise  it. 
There  is  in  each  human  face  some  spot  where  every  secret 
emotion  of  the  heart  betrays  itself;  and  these  good  people, 
accustomed  to  watch  each  other,  had,  after  the  lapse  of  years, 
discovered  the  weak  place  in  the  Cure — when  he  had  mistigris 
the  tip  of  his  nose  turned  white.  Then  they  all  took  care  not 
to  play. 

"You  have  had  visitors  to-day?"  said  the  Chevalier  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 

"Yes;  one  of  my  brother-in-law's  cousins.  He  surprised 
me  by  telling  me  of  the  intended  marriage  of  Madame  la 
Comtesse  de  Kergarouet,  a  demoiselle  de  Fontaine " 

"A  daughter  of  Grand-Jacques !"  exclaimed  du  Halga,  who 
during  his  stay  in  Paris  had  never  left  his  Admiral's  side. 

"The  Countess  inherits  everything;  she  has  married  a  man 
who  was  ambassador. — He  told  me  the  most  extraordinary 


42  BEATRIX 

things  about  our  neighbor.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches;  so 
extraordinary,  that  I  will  not  believe  them.  Calyste  could 
never  be  so  attentive  to  her ;  he  has  surely  enough  good  sense 
to  perceive  such  monstrosities." 

"Monstrosities !"  said  the  Baron,  roused  by  the  word. 

The  Baroness  and  the  priest  looked  meaningly  at  each 
other.  The  cards  were  dealt.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
had  mistigris ;  she  did  not  want  to  continue  the  conversation, 
but  was  glad  to  cover  her  delight  under  the  general  amaze- 
ment caused  by  this  word. 

"It  is  your  turn  to  lead,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  she, 
bridling. 

"My  nephew  is  not  one  of  those  young  men  who  like  mon- 
strosities," said  Zephirine,  poking  her  knitting-pin  through 
her  hair. 

"Mistigris !"  cried  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  without 
answering  her  friend. 

The  Cure,  who  appeared  fully  informed  as  to  all  that  con- 
cerned Calyste  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  did  not  enter 
the  lists. 

"What  does  she  do  that  is  so  extraordinary,  this  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches?"  asked  the  Baron. 

"She  smokes,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 

"It  is  very  wholesome,"  said  the  Chevalier. 

"Her  bacon  ?"  asked  the  Baron. 

"Her  bacon !     She  does  not  save  it,"  retorted  the  old  maid. 

"Every  one  played,  and  every  one  is  looed;  I  have  the 
king,  queen,  and  knave  of  trumps,  mistigris,  and  a  king," 
said  the  Baroness.  "The  pool  is  ours,  sister." 

This  stroke,  won  without  play,  overwhelmed  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel,  who  thought  no  more  of  Calyste  and 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches.  At  nine  o'clock  no  one  remained 
in  the  room  but  the  Baroness  and  the  Cure.  The  four  old 
people  had  gone  away  and  to  bed. 

The  Chevalier,  as  usual,  escorted  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
to  her  own  house  in  the  Market  Place,  making  remarks  on  the 
skill  of  the  last  player,  on  their  good  or  ill  luck,  or  on  the 


BEATRIX  43 

ever-new  glee  with  which  Mademoiselle  Zephirine's  pocket 
engulfed  her  winnings,  for  the  old  blind  woman  made  no 
attempt  now  to  disguise  the  expression  of  her  sentiments  in 
her  face.  Madame  du  Guenic's  absence  of  mind  was  their 
subject  to-night.  The  Chevalier  had  observed  the  charming 
Irishwoman's  inattention  to  the  game.  On  the  doorstep,  when 
her  boy  had  gone  upstairs,  the  old  lady  replied  in  confidence 
to  the  Chevalier's  guesses  as  to  the  Baroness'  strange  manner 
by  these  words,  big  with  importance: 

"I  know  the  reason;  Calyste  is  done  for  if  he  is  not  soon 
married.  He  is  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  des  Touches — an 
actress !" 

"In. that  case,  send  for  Charlotte." 

"My  sister  shall  hear  from  me  to-morrow/'  said  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel,  bidding  him  good-night. 

From  this  study  of  a  normal  evening,  the  commotion  may 
be  imagined  that  was  produced  in  the  home  circles  of  Gue- 
rande  by  the  arrival,  the  stay,  the  departure,  or  even  the  pass- 
ing through  of  a  stranger. 

When  not  a  sound  was  audible  in  the  Baron's  room  or  in 
his  sister's,  Madame  du  Guenic  turned  to  the  priest,  who  was 
pensively  playing  with  the  counters. 

"I  see  that  you  at  last  share  my  uneasiness  about  Calyste," 
she  said. 

"Did  you  notice  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-HoeTs  prim  air  this 
evening  ?"  asked  he. 

CfYes,"  replied  the  Baroness. 

"She  has,  I  know,  the  very  best  intentions  towards  our  dear 
Calyste;  she  loves  him  as  if  he  were  her  son;  and  his  con- 
duct in  la  Vendee  at  his  father's  side,  with  MADAME'S  praise 
of  his  devoted  behavior,  has  added  to  the  affection  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel  feels  for  him.  She  will  endow  either 
of  her  nieces  whom  Calyste  may  marry  with  all  her  fortune 
by  deed  of  gift. 

"You  have,  I  know,  in  Ireland,  a  far  richer  match  for  your 
beloved  boy;  but  it  is  well  to  have  two  strings  to  one's  bow. 
In  the  event  of  your  family  not  choosing  to  undertake  to  settle 


44  BEATRIX 

anything  on  Calyste,  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoe7s  fortune  is 
not  to  be  despised.  You  could,  no  doubt,  find  your  son  a  wife 
with  seven  thousand  francs  a  year,  but  not  the  savings  of  forty 
years,  nor  lands  managed,  tilled,  and  kept  up  as  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel's  are.  That  wicked  woman,  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  has  come  to  spoil  everything.  We  have  at  last  found 
out  something  about  her." 

"Well  ?"  asked  the  mother. 

"Oh,  she  is  a  slut,  a  baggage,"  exclaimed  the  Cure.  "A 
woman  of  doubtful  habits,  always  hanging  about  the  theatres 
in  the  company  of  actors  and  actresses,  squandering  her  for- 
tune with  journalists,  painters,  musicians — the  devil's  own, 
in  short !  When  she  writes,  she  uses  a  different  name  in  her 
books,  and  is  better  known  by  that,  it  is  said,  than  by  that  of 
des  Touches.  A  perfect  imp,  who  has  never  been  inside  a 
church  since  her  first  communion,  excepting  to  stare  at  statues 
or  pictures.  She  has  spent  her  fortune  in  decorating  les 
Touches  in  the  most  improper  manner  to  make  it  a  sort  of 
Mahomet's  Paradise,  where  the  houris  are  not  women.  There 
is  more  good  wine  drunk  there  while  she  is  in  the  place  than 
in  all  Guerande  besides  in  a  year.  Last  year  the  Demoiselles 
Bougniol  had  for  lodgers  some  men  with  goats'  beards,  sus- 
pected of  being  'blues,'  who  used  to  go  to  her  house,  and  who 
sang  songs  that  made  those  virtuous  girls  blush  and  weep. 
That  is  the  woman  your  son  at  present  adores. 

"If  that  creature  were  to  ask  this  evening  for  one  of  the 
atrocious  books  in  which  atheists  nowadays  laugh  everything 
to  scorn,  the  young  Chevalier  would  come  and  saddle  his  horse 
with  his  own  hands,  to  ride  off  at  a  gallop  to  fetch  it  for  her 
from  Nantes.  I  do  not  know  that  Calyste  would  do  so  much 
for  the  Church.  And  then,  Bretonne  as  she  is,  she  is  not  a 
Eoyalist.  If  it  were  necessary  to  march  out,  gun  in  hand, 
for  the  good  cause,  should  Mademoiselle  des  Touches — or 
Camille  Maupin,  for  that,  I  remember,  is  her  name — want  to 
keep  Calyste  with  her,  your  son  would  let  his  old  father  set 
out  alone." 

"No/'  said  the  Baroness. 


BEATRIX  45 

"I  should  not  like  to  put  him  to  the  test,  you  might  feel 
it  too  painfully,"  replied  the  Cure.  All  Guerande  is  in  a 
commotion  over  the  Chevalier's  passion  for  this  amphibious 
creature  that  is  neither  man  nor  woman,  who  smokes  like  a 
trooper,  writes  like  a  journalist,  and,  at  this  moment,  has 
under  her  roof  the  most  malignant  writer  of  them  all,  accord- 
ing to  the  postmaster — a  trimmer  who  reads  all  the  papers. 
It  is  talked  of  at  Nantes.  This  morning  the  Kergarouet 
cousin,  who  wants  to  see  Charlotte  married  to  a  man  who  has 
sixty  thousand  francs  a  year,  came  to  call  on  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel,  and  turned  her  head  with  roundabout  tales  about 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  which  lasted  seven  hours. — There 
is  a  quarter  to  ten  striking  by  the  church  clock,  and  Calyste 
is  not  come  in ;  he  is  at  les  Touches — perhaps  he  will  not  come 
back  till  morning." 

The  Baroness  listened  to  the  Cure,  who  had  unconsciously 
substituted  monologue  for  dialogue;  he  was  looking  at  this 
lamb  of  his  flock,  reading  her  uneasy  thoughts  in  her  face. 
The  Baroness  was  blushing  and  trembling.  When  the  Abbe 
Grimont  saw  tears  in  the  distressed  mothers  beautiful  eyes, 
he  was  deeply  touched. 

"I  will  see  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  to-morrow,  be  com- 
forted," said  he,  in  an  encouraging  tone.  "The  mischief  is, 
perhaps,  not  so  great  as  rumor  says ;  I  will  find  out  the  truth. 
Besides,  Mademoiselle  Jacqueline  has  confidence  in  me. 
Again,  we  have  brought  up  Calyste,  and  he  will  not  allow  him- 
self to  be  bewitched  by  the  demon ;  he  will  do  nothing  to  dis- 
turb the  peace  of  his  family,  or  the  plans  we  are  making  for 
his  future  life.  Do  not  weep;  all  is  not  lost,  madame;  one 
fault  is  not  vice." 

"You  only  tell  me  the  details,"  said  the  Baroness.  "Was 
not  I  the  first  to  perceive  the  change  in  Calyste?  A  mother 
feels  keenly  the  pain  of  being  second  in  her  son's  affections, 
the  grief  of  not  being  alone  in  his  heart.  That  phase  of  a 
man's  life  is  one  of  the  woes  of  motherhood;  but  though  I 
knew  it  must  come,  I  did  not  expect  it  so  soon.  And,  then, 
I  could  have  wished  that  he  should  have  taken  into  his  heart 


46  BEATRIX 

some  beautiful  and  noble  creature,  not  a  mere  actress,  a 
posture-maker,  a  woman  who  frequents  theatres,  an  authoress 
accustomed  to  feign  feeling,  a  bad  woman  who  will  deceive 
him  and  make  him  wretched.  She  has  had  'affairs  ?' '' 

"With  many  men,"  said  the  Abbe  Grimont.  "And  yet  this 
miscreant  was  born  in  Brittany.  She  is  a  disgrace  to  her 
native  soil.  On  Sunday  I  will  preach  a  sermon  about  her." 

"By  no  means!"  exclaimed  the  Baroness.  "The  marsh- 
men  and  peasants  are  capable  of  attacking  les  Touches. 
Calyste  is  worthy  of  his  name ;  he  is  a  true  Breton ;  and  some 
evil  might  come  of  it  if  he  were  there,  for  he  would  fight  for 
her  as  if  she  were  the  Blessed  Virgin." 

"It  is  striking  ten;  I  will  bid  you  good-night,"  said  the 
Abbe,  lighting  the  oribus  of  his  lantern,  of  which  the  clear 
glass  panes  and  glittering  metal-work  showed  his  house- 
keeper's minute  care  for  all  the  concerns  of  the  house.  "Who 
could  have  told  me,  madame,"  he  went  on,  "that  a  young 
man  nursed  at  your  breast,  brought  up  by  me  in  Christian 
ideas,  a  fervent  Catholic,  a  boy  who  lived  like  a  lamb  without 
spot,  would  plunge  into  such  a  foul  bog  ?" 

"But  is  that  quite  certain  ?"  said  the  mother.  "And,  after 
all,  how  could  any  woman  help  loving  Calyste?" 

"No  proof  is  needed  beyond  that  witch's  prolonged  stay  at 
les  Touches.  During  twenty-four  years,  since  she  came  of 
age,  this  is  the  longest  visit  she  has  paid  here.  Happily  for 
us,  her  apparitions  have  hitherto  been  brief." 

"A  woman  past  forty !"  said  the  Baroness.  "I  have  heard 
it  said  in  Ireland  that  such  a  woman  is  the  most  dangerous 
mistress  a  young  man  can  have." 

"On  that  point  I  am  ignorant,"  replied  the  Cure.  "Nay, 
and  I  shall  die  in  my  ignorance." 

"Alas !  and  so  shall  I,"  said  the  Baroness.  "I  wish  now 
that  I  had  ever  been  in  love,  to  be  able  to  study,  advise,  and 
comfort  Calyste." 

The  priest  did  not  cross  the  clean  little  courtyard  alone; 
Madame  du  Guenic  went  with  him  as  far  as  the  gate,  in  the 
hope  of  hearing  Calyste's  step  in  Guerande;  but  she  heard 


BEATRIX  47 

only  the  heavy  sound  of  the  Abbe's  deliberate  tread,  which 
grew  fainter  in  the  distance,  and  ceased  when  the  shutting 
of  the  priest's  door  echoed  through  the  silent  town. 

The  poor  mother  went  indoors  in  despair  at  learning  that 
the  whole  town  was  informed  of  what  she  had  believed  her- 
self alone  in  knowing.  She  sat  down,  revived  the  lamp  by 
cutting  the  wick  with  a  pair  of  old  scissors,  and  took  up  the 
worsted  work  she  was  accustomed  to  do  while  waiting  for 
Calyste.  She  flattered  herself  that  she  thus  induced  her  son 
to  come  home  earlier,  to  spend  less  time  with  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches.  But  this  stratagem  of  maternal  jealousy  was 
in  vain.  Calyste's  visits  to  les  Touches  became  more  and 
more  frequent,  and  every  evening  he  came  in  a  little  later; 
at  last,  the  previous  night,  he  had  not  returned  till  mid- 
night. 

The  Baroness,  sunk  in  meditation,  set  her  stitches  with  the 
energy  of  women  who  can  think  while  following  some  manual 
occupation.  Any  one  who  should  have  seen  her  bent  to  catch 
the  light  of  the  lamp,  in  the  midst  of  the  paneling  of  this 
room,  four  centuries  old,  must  have  admired  the  noble  picture. 
Fanny's  flesh  had  a  transparency  that  seemed  to  show  her 
thoughts  legible  on  her  brow.  Stung,  now,  by  the  curiosity 
that  comes  to  pure-minted  women,  she  wondered  by  what 
diabolical  secrets  these  daughters  of  Baal  so  bewitched  a  man 
as  to  make  him  forget  his  mother  and  his  family,  his  country, 
his  self-interest.  Then  she  went  so  far  as  to  wish  she  could 
see  the  woman,  so  as  to  judge  her  sanely.  She  calculated 
the  extent  of  the  mischief  that  the  innovating  spirit  of  the 
age — which  the  Cure  described  as  so  dangerous  to  youthful 
souls — might  do  to  her  only  child,  till  now  as  guileless  and 
pure  as  an  innocent  girl,  whose  beauty  could  not  be  fresher 
thai:  his. 

Celyste,  a  noble  offshoot  of  the  oldest  Breton  and  the 
noblest  Irish  blood,  had  been  carefully  brought  up  by  his 
mother.  Till  the  moment  when  the  Baroness  handed  him 
over  to  the  Cure  of  Guerande,  she  was  sure  that  not  an  inde- 
cent word,  nor  an  evil  idea,  had  ever  soiled  her  son's  ear  or 


48  BEATRIX 

his  understanding.  The  mother,  after  rearing  him  on  her 
own  milk,  and  thus  giving  him  a  double  infusion  of  her 
blood,  could  present  him  in  virginal  innocence  to  the  priest 
who,  out  of  reverence  for  the  family,  undertook  to  give  him 
a  complete  and  Christian  education.  Calyste  was  educated 
on  the  plan  of  the  Seminary  where  the  Abbe  Grimont  had 
been  brought  up.  His  mother  taught  him  English.  A  math- 
ematical master  was  discovered,  not  without  difficulty,  among 
the  clerks  at  Saint-Nazaire.  Calyste,  of  course,  knew  noth- 
ing of  modern  literature,  or  of  the  latest  advance  and  prog- 
ress of  science.  His  education  was  limited  to  the  geography 
and  emasculated  history  taught  in  girls'  schools,  to  the  Latin 
and  Greek  of  the  Seminary,  to  the  literature  of  dead  lan- 
guages, and  a  limited  selection  of  French  writers.  When,  at 
sixteen,  he  began  what  the  Abbe  called  his  course  of  phil- 
osophy, he  was  still  as  innocent  as  at  the  moment  when  Fanny 
had  handed  him  over  to  the  Cure.  The  Church  was  no  less 
maternal  than  the  mother;  without  being  bigoted  or  ridicu- 
lous, this  well-beloved  youth  was  a  fervent  Catholic. 

The  Baroness  longed  to  plan  a  happy  and  obscure  life  for 
her  handsome  and  immaculate  son.  She  expected  some  little 
fortune  from  an  old  aunt,  about  two  or  three  thousand  pounds 
sterling;  this  sum,  added  to  the.  present  fortune  of  the 
Guenics,  might  enable  her  to  find  a  wife  for  Calyste  whp 
would  bring  him  twelve  or  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  with  her  aunt's  money,  some  rich 
Irish  girl,  or  any  other  heiress — it  was  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence to  the  Baroness.  She  knew  nothing  of  love ;  like  all  the 
people  among  whom  she  lived,  she  regarded  marriage  as  a 
stepping-stone  to  fortune.  Passion  was  a  thing  unknown  to 
these  Catholics,  old  people  wholly  occupied  in  saving  their 
souls,  in  thinking  of  God,  the  King,  and  their  own  wealth. 

No  one,  therefore,  can  be  surprised  at  the  gravity  of  the 
reflections  that  mingled  with  the  wounded  feelings  in  this 
mother's  heart,  living,  as  she  did,  as  much  for  her  boy's  inter- 
ests as  by  his  affection.  If  the  young  couple  would  but  listen 
to  reason,  by  living  parsimoniously  and  economizing,  as 


BEATRIX  49 

country  folk  know  how,  by  the  second  generation  the  du 
Guenics  might  repurchase  their  estates  and  reconquer  the 
splendor  of  wealth.  The  Baroness  hoped  to  live  to  be  old 
that  she  might  see  the  dawn  of  that  life  of  ease.  Made- 
moiselle du  Guenic  had  understood  and  adopted  this  scheme, 
and  now  it  was  threatened  by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

Madame  du  Guenic  heard  midnight  strike  with  horror, 
and  she  endured  an  hour  more  of  fearful  alarms,  for  the 
stroke  of  one  rang  out,  and  still  Calyste  had  not  come  home. 

"Will  he  stay  there  ?"  she  wondered.  "It  would  be  the 
first  time — poor  child !" 

At  this  moment  Calyste's  step  was  heard  in  the  street.  The 
poor  mother,  in  whose  heart  joy  took  the  place  of  anxiety, 
flew  from  the  room  to  the  gate  and  opened  it  for  her  son. 

"My  dearest  mother/'  cried  Calyste,  with  a  look  of  vexation, 
"why  sit  up  for  me  ?  I  have  the  latch-key  and  a  tinder-box." 

"You  know,  my  child,  that  I  can  never  sleep  while  you  are 
out,"  said  she,  kissing  him. 

When  the  Baroness  had  returned  to  the  room,  she  looked 
into  her  son's  face  to  read  in  its  expression  what  had  hap- 
pened during  the  evening ;  but  this  look  produced  in  her,  as 
it  always  did,  a  certain  emotion  which  custom  does  not  weaken 
— which  all  loving  mothers  feel  as  they  gaze  at  their  human 
masterpiece,  and  which  for  a  moment  dims  their  sight. 

Calyste  had.  black  eyes,  full  of  vigor  and  sunshine,  inher- 
ited from  his  father,  with  the  fine,  fair  hair,  the  aquiline  nose 
and  lovely  mouth,  the  turned-up  finger-tips,  the  soft  com- 
plexion, finish,  and  fairness  of  his  mother.  Though  he 
looked  not  unlike  a  girl  dressed  as  a  man,  he  was  wonder- 
fully strong.  His  sinews  had  the  elasticity  and  tension  of 
steel  springs,  and  the  singular  effect  of  his  black  eyes  had  a 
charm  of  its  own.  As  yet  he  had  no  hair  on  his  face ;  this  late 
development,  it  is  said,  is  a  promise  of  long  life.  The  young 
Chevalier,  who  wore  a  short  jacket  of  black  velvet,  like  his 
mother's  gown,  with  silver  buttons,  had  a  blue  neckerchief, 
neat  gaiters,  and  trousers  of  gray  drill.  His  snowy-white 
forehead  bore  the  traces,  as  it  seemed,  of  great  fatigue,  but, 


50  BEATRIX 

in  fact,  they  were  those  of  a  burden  of  sad  thoughts.  His 
mother,  having  no  suspicion  of  the  sorrows  that  were  eating 
the  lad's  heart  out,  ascribed  this  transient  change  to  happi- 
ness. Calyste  was,  nevertheless,  as  beautiful  as  a  Greek  god, 
handsome  without  conceit;  for,  in  the  first  place,  he  was 
accustomed  to  see  his  mother,  and  he  also  cared  but  little  for 
beauty,  which  he  knew  to  be  useless. 

"And  those  lovely  smooth  cheeks/'  thought  she,  "where  the 
rich  young  blood  flows  in  a  thousand  tiny  veins,  belong  to 
another  woman,  who  is  mistress,  too,  of  that  girl-like  brow? 
Passion  will  stamp  them  with  its  agitations,  and  dim  those 
fine  eyes,  as  liquid  now  as  a  child's !" 

The  bitter  thought  fell  heavy  on  Madame  du  Guenic's 
heart,  and  spoilt  her  pleasure. 

It  must  seem  strange  that,  in  a  family  where  six  persons 
were  obliged  to  live  on  three  thousand  francs  a  year,  the  son 
should  have  a  velvet  coat,  and  the  mother  a  velvet  dress ;  but 
Fanny  O'Brien  had  rich  relations  and  aunts  in  London,  who 
reminded  the  Breton  Baroness  of  their  existence  by  sending 
her  presents.  Some  of  her  sisters,  having  married  well,  took 
an  interest  in  Calyste  so  far  as  to  think  of  finding  him  a 
rich  wife,  knowing  that  he  was  as  handsome  and  as  well-born 
as  their  exiled  favorite  Fanny. 

"You  stayed  later  at  les  Touches  than  you  did  yesterday, 
my  darling  ?"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"Yes,  mother  dear,"  replied  he,  without  adding  any  ex- 
planation. 

The  brevity  of  the  answer  brought  a  cloud  to  his  mother's 
brow;  she  postponed  any  explanation  till  the  morrow.  When 
mothers  are  disturbed  by  such  alarms  as  the  Baroness  felt 
at  this  moment,  they  almost  tremble  before  their  sons;  they 
instinctively  feel  the  effects  of  the  great  emancipation  of  love; 
they  understand  all  that  this  new  feeling  will  rob  them  of; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  they  are,  in  a  sense,  glad  of  their  son's 
happiness ;  there  is  a  fierce  struggle  in  their  heart.  Though 
the  result  is  that  the  son  is  grown  up,  and  on  a  higher  level, 
true  mothers  do  not  like  their  tacit  abdication;  they  would 


BEATRIX  51 

rather  keep  their  child  little  and  wanting  care.  That,  per- 
haps, is  the  secret  of  mothers'  favoritism  for  weakly,  de- 
formed, and  helpless  children. 

"You  are  very  tired,  dear  child,"  said  she,  swallowing  down 
her  tears.  "Go  to  bed." 

A  mother  who  does  not  know  everything  her  son  is  doing 
thinks  of  him  as  lost  when  she  loves  and  is  as  well  loved  as 
Fanny.  And  perhaps  any  other  mother  would  have  quaked 
in  her  place  as  much  as  Madame  du  Guenic.  The  patience 
of  twenty  years  might  be  made  useless.  Calyste — a  human 
masterpiece  of  noble,  prudent,  and  religious  training — might 
be  ruined;  the  happiness  so  carefully  prepared  for  him 
might  be  destroyed  for  ever  by  a  woman. 

Next  day  Calyste  slept  till  noon,  for  his  mother  would  not 
allow  him  to  be  roused;  Mariotte  gave  the  spoilt  boy  his 
breakfast  in  bed.  The  immutable  and  almost  conventual  rule 
that  governed  the  hours  of  meals  yielded  to  the  young  gen- 
tleman's caprices.  Indeed,  when  at  any  time  it  was  necessary 
to  obtain  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic's  bunch  of  keys  to  get  out 
something  between  meals  which  would  necessitate  intermin- 
able explanations,  the  only  way  of  doing  it  was  to  plead  some 
whim  of  Calyste's. 

At  about  one  o'clock,  the  Baron,  his  wife,  and  Mademoiselle 
were  sitting  in  the  dining-room;  they  dined  at  three.  The 
Baroness  had  taken  up  the  Quotidienne,  and  was  finishing 
it  to  her  husband,  who  was  always  rather  more  wakeful  before 
his  meals.  Just  as  she  had  done,  Madame  du  Guenic  heard 
her  son's  step  on  the  floor  above,  and  laid  down  the  paper,  say- 
ing: 

"Calyste,  I  suppose,  is  dining  at  les  Touches  again  to-day ; 
he  has  just  finished  dressing." 

"He  takes  his  pleasure — that  boy !"  said  the  old  lady,  pull- 
ing a  silver  whistle  out  of  her  pocket,  and  whistling  once. 

Mariotte  came  through  the  turret,  making  her  appearance 
at  the  door,  which  was  hidden  by  a  silk  damask  curtain,  like 
those  at  the  windows. 


52  BEATRIX 

"Yes/*  said  she,  "did  you  please  to  want  anything  ?" 

"The  Chevalier  is  dining  at  les  Touches ;  we  shall  not  want 
the  fish." 

"Well,  we  do  not  know  yet,"  said  the  Baroness. 

"You  seem  vexed  about  it,  sister;  I  know  by  the  tone 
of  your  voice,"  said  the  blind  woman. 

"Monsieur  Grimont  has  learnt  some  serious  facts  about 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who,  during  the  last  year,  has  done 
so  much  to  change  our  dear  Calyste." 

"In  what  way  ?"  asked  the  Baron. 

"Well,  he  reads  all  sorts  of  books." 

"Ah,  ha !"  said  the  Baron ;  "then  that  is  why  he  neglects 
hunting  and  riding." 

"She  leads  a  very  reprehensible  life,  and  calls  herself  by 
a  man's  name,"  Madame  du  Guenie  went  on. 

"A  nickname  among  comrades,"  said  the  old  man.  "I  used 
to  be  called  I'Iniime,,  the  Comte  de  Fontaine  was  Grand- 
Jacques,  the  Marquis  de  Montauran  was  le  Gars.  I  was  a 
great  friend  of  Ferdinand's;  he  did  not  submit,  any  more 
than  I  did.  Those  were  good  times!  There  was  plenty  of 
fighting,  and  we  had  some  fun  here  and  there,  all  the  same." 

These  reminiscences  of  the  war,  thus  taking  the  place  of 
paternal  anxiety,  distressed  Fanny  for  a  moment.  The  Cure's 
revelations,  and  her  son's  want  of  confidence,  had  hindered 
her  sleeping. 

"And  if  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  should  be  in  love  with 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  where  is  the  harm?"  exclaimed 
Mariotte.  "She  is  a  fine  woman,  and  has  thirty  thousand 
crowns  a  year." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Mariotte,"  cried  the  old  man. 
"A  du  Guenie  to  marry  a  des  Touches !  The  des  Touches  were 
not  even  our  squires  at  a  time  when  the  du  Guesclins  regarded 
an  alliance  with  us  as  a  distinguished  honor." 

"A  woman  who  calls  herself  by  a  man's  name — Camille 
Maupin !"  added  the  Baroness. 

"The  Maupins  are  an  old  family,"  said  the  old  man.  "They 
are  Norman,  and  bear  gules,  three —  — "  he  stopped  short, 
"But  she  cannot  be  a  man  and  a  woman  at  the  same  time/' 


BEATRIX  53 

"She  calls  herself  Maupin  at  the  theatre." 

"A  des  Touches  cannot  be  an  actress/'  said  the  old  man. 
"If  I  did  not  know  you,  Fanny,  I  should  think  you  were 
mad." 

''She  writes  pieces  and  books,"  the  Baroness  went  on. 

''Writes  books !"  said  the  Baron,  looking  at  his  wife  with 
as  much  astonishment  as  if  he  had  heard  of  a  miracle.  "I 
have  heard  that  Mademoiselle  de  Scuderi  and  Madame  de 
Sevigne  wrote  books,  and  that  was  not  the  best  of  what  they 
did.  But  only  Louis  XIV.  and  his  court  could  produce  such 
prodigies." 

"You  will  be  dining  at  les  Touches,  won't  you,  monsieur  ?" 
said  Mariotte  to  Calyste,  who  came  in. 

"Probably,"  said  the  young  man. 

Mariotte  was  not  inquisitive,  and  she  was  one  of  the  family ; 
she  left  the  room  without  waiting  to  hear  the  question  Mad- 
ame du  Guenic  was  about  to  put  to  Calyste. 

"You  are  going  to  les  Touches  again,  my  Calyste?"  said 
she,  with  an  emphasis  on  my  Calyste.  "And  les  Touches  is 
not  a  decent  and  reputable  house.  The  mistress  of  it  leads 
a  wild  life ;  she  will  corrupt  our  boy.  Camille  Maupin  makes 
him  read  a  great  many  books — sne  has  had  a  great  many 
adventures !  And  you  knew  it,  bad  child,  and  never  said  any- 
thing about  it  to  your  old  folks." 

"The  Chevalier  is  discreet,"  said  his  father,  "an  old  world 
virtue !" 

"Too  discreet!"  said  the  jealous  mother,  as  she  saw  the 
color  mount  to  her  son's  brow. 

"My  dear  mother,"  said  Calyste,  kneeling  down  before  her, 
"I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  proclaim  my  defeat.  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  or,  if  you  prefer  it,  Camille  Maupin,  re- 
jected my  love  eighteen  months  since,  when  she  was  here  last. 
She  gently  made  fun  of  me;  she  might  be  my  mother,  she 
said;  a  woman  of  forty  who  loved  a  minor  committed  a  sort 
of  incest,  and  she  was  incapable  of  such  depravity.  In  short, 
she  laughed  at  me  in  a  hundred  ways,  and  quite  overpowered 
me,  for  she  has  the  wit  of  an  angel.  Then,  when  she  saw  me 


54  BEATRIX 

crying  bitter  tears,  she  comforted  me  by  offering  me  her 
friendship  in  the  noblest  way.  She  has  even  more  heart  than 
brains;  she  is  as  generous  as  you  are.  I  am  like  a  child  to 
her  now. — Then,  when  she  came  here  again,  I  heard  that  she 
loved  another  man,  and  I  resigned  myself. — Do  not  repeat 
all  the  calumnies  you  hear  about  her;  Camille  is  an  artist; 
she  has  genius,  and  leads  one  of  those  exceptional  lives  which 
cannot  be  judged  by  ordinary  standards." 

"My  child  I"  said  the  pious  Fanny,  "nothing  can  excuse  a 
woman  for  not  living  according  to  the  ordinances  of  the 
Church.  She  fails  in  her  duties  towards  God  and  towards 
society  by  failing  in  the  gentle  religion  of  her  sex.  A  woman 
commits  a  sin  even  by  going  to  a  theatre;  but  when  she 
writes  impieties  to  be  repeated  by  actors,  and  flies  about  the 
world,  sometimes  with  an  enemy  of  the  Pope's,  sometimes 
with  a  musician — Oh !  Calyste !  you  will  find  it  hard  to  con- 
vince me  that  such  things  are  acts  of  faith,  hope,  or  charity. 
Her  fortune  was  given  her  by  God  to  do  good.  What  use  does 
she  make  of  it?" 

Calyste  suddenly  stood  up;  he  looked  at  his  mother  and 
said: 

"Mother,  Camille  is  my  friend.  I  cannot  hear  her  spoken 
of  in  this  way,  for  I  would  give  my  life  for  her." 

"Your  life  ?"  said  the  Baroness,  gazing  at  her  son  in  terror. 
"Your  life  is  our  life — the  life  of  us  all !" 

"My  handsome  nephew  has  made  use  of  many  words  that 
I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  old  blind  woman,  turning  to 
Calyste. 

"Where  has  he  learnt  them?"  added  his  mother.  "At 
les  Touches." 

"Why,  my  dear  mother,  she  found  me  as  ignorant  as  a 
carp." 

"You  knew  all  that  was  essential  in  knowing  the  duties 
enjoined  on  us  by  religion,"  replied  the  Baroness.  "Ah !  that 
woman  will  undermine  your  noble  and  holy  beliefs." 

The  old  aunt  rose  and  solemnly  extended  her  hand  towards 
her  brother,  who  was  sleeping. 


BEATRIX  55 

"Calyste,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  that  came  from  her  heart, 
"your  father  never  opened  a  book,  he  speaks  Breton,  he 
fought  in  the  midst  of  perils  for  the  King  and  for  God. 
Educated  men  had  done  the  mischief,  and  gentlemen  of  learn- 
ing had  deserted  their  country. — Learn  if  you  will." 

She  sat  down  again,  and  began  knitting  with  the  vehemence 
that  came  of  her  mental  agitation.  Calyste  was  struck  by 
this  Phocion-like  utterance. 

"In  short,  my  dearest,  I  have  a  presentiment  of  some  evil 
hanging  over  you  in  that  house,"  said  his  mother,  in  a 
broken  voice  as  her  tears  fell. 

"Who  is  making  Fanny  cry  ?"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  sud- 
denly wakened  by  the  sound  of  his  wife's  voice.  He  looked 
round  at  her,  his  son,  and  his  sister. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Nothing,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Baroness. 

"Mamma,"  said  Calyste  in  his  mother's  ear,  "it  is  impos- 
sible that  I  should  explain  matters  now;  but  we  will  talk  it 
over  this  evening.  When  you  know  all,  you  will  bless  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches." 

"Mothers  have  no  love  of  cursing,"  replied  the  Baroness, 
"and  I  should  never  curse  any  woman  who  truly  loved  my 
Calyste." 

The  young  man  said  good-bye  to  his  father,  and  left  the 
house.  The  Baron  and  his  wife  rose  to  watch  him  as  he 
crossed  the  courtyard,  opened  the  gate,  and  disappeared.  The 
Baroness  did  not  take  up  the  paper  again;  she  was  agitated. 
In  a  life  so  peaceful,  so  monotonous,  this  little  discussion 
was  as  serious  as  a  quarrel  in  any  other  family;  and  the 
mother's  anxiety,  though  soothed,  was  not  dispelled.  Whither 
would  this  friendship,  which  might  demand  and  imperil  her 
boy's  life,  ultimately  lead  him  ?  How  could  she,  the  Baroness, 
have  reason  to  bless  Mademoiselle  des  Touches?  These  two 
questions  were  as  all-important  to  her  simple  soul  as  the 
maddest  revolution  can  be  to  a  diplomatist.  Canaille  Maupin 
was  a  revolution  in  the  quiet  and  simple  home. 

"I  am  very  much  afraid  that  this  woman  will  spoil  him 
for  us,"  said  she,  taking  up  the  newspaper  agaiiL 


56  BEATRIX 

"My  dear  Fanny/'  said  the  old  Baron,  with  knowing 
sprightliness,  "you  are  too  completely  an  angel  to  understand 
such  things.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  is,  they  say,  as  black 
as  a  crow,  as  strong  as  a  Turk,  and  she  is  forty — our  dear  boy 
was  sure  to  be  attracted  by  her.  He  will  tell  a  few  very  hon- 
orable fibs  to  conceal  his  happiness.  Let  him  enjoy  the  illu- 
sions of  his  first  love." 

"If  it  were  any  other  woman " 

"But,  dearest  Fanny,  if  the  woman  was  a  saint,  she  would 
not  make  your  son  welcome." 

The  Baroness  went  back  to  the  paper. 

"I  will  go  to  see  her,"  said  the  old  man,  "and  tell  you  what 
I  think  of  her." 

The  speech  has  no  point  but  in  retrospect.  After  hearing 
the  history  of  Camille  Maupin,  you  may  imagine  the  Baron 
face  to  face  with  this  famous  woman. 

The  town  of  Guerande,  which  for  two  months  past  had  seen 
Calyste — its  flower  and  its  pride — going  every  da}r,  morning 
or  evening — sometimes  both  morning  and  evening — to  les 
Touches,  supposed  that  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  pas- 
sionately in  love  with  the  handsome  lad,  and  did  her  utmost 
to  bewitch  him.  More  than  one  girl  and  one  young  woman 
wondered  what  was  the  witchcraft  of  an  old  woman  that  she 
had  such  absolute  empire  over  the  angelic  youth.  And  so, 
as  Calyste  crossed  the  High  Street  to  go  out  by  the  gate  to  le 
Croisic,  more  than  one  eye  looked  anxiously  after  him. 

It  now  becomes  necessary  to  account  for  the  reports  that 
were  current  concerning  the  personage  whom  Calyste  was 
going  to  see.  These  rumors,  swelled  by  Breton  gossip,  and 
envenomed  by  the  ignorance  of  the  public,  had  reached  even 
the  Cure.  The  Tax-Beceiver,  the  Justice  of  the  Peace,  the 
head  clerk  of  the  customs  at  Saint-Nazaire,  and  other  literate 
persons  in  the  district,  had  not  reassured  the  Abbe  by  telling 
him  of  the  eccentric  life  led  by  the  woman  and  artist  hidden 
under  the  name  of  Camille  Maupin. 

She  had  not  yet  come  to  eating  little  children,  to  killing 


BEATRIX  57 

her  slaves,  like  Cleopatra,  to  throwing  men  into  the  river,  as 
the  heroine  of  the  Tour  de  Nesle  is  falsely  accused  of  doing ; 
still,  to  the  Abbe  Grimont,  this  monstrous  creature,  at  once 
a  siren  and  an  atheist,  was  a  most  immoral  combination  of 
woman  and  philosopher,  and  fell  short  of  every  social  law  laid 
down  to  control  or  utilize  the  weaknesses  of  the  fair  sex.  Just 
as  Clara  Gazul  is  the  feminine  pseudonym  of  a  clever  man, 
and  George  Sand  that  of  a  woman  of  genius,  so  Camille 
Maupin  was  the  mask  behind  which  a  charming  girl  long  hid 
herself — a  Bretonne  named  Felicite  des  Touches,  she  who 
was  now  giving  the  Baronne  du  Guenic  and  the  worthy  Cur6 
of  Guerande  so  much  cause  for  anxiety.  This  family  has 
no  connection  with  that  of  the  des  Touches  of  Touraine,  to 
which  the  Eegent's  ambassador  belongs,  a  man  more  famous 
now  for  his  literary  talents  than  for  his  diplomacy. 

Camille  Maupin,  one  of  the  few  famous  women  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  was  long  supposed  to  be  really  a  man,  so 
manly  was  her  first  appearance  as  an  author.  Everybody  is 
now  familiar  with  the  two  volumes  of  dramas,  impossible  to 
put  on  the  stage,  written  in  the  manner  of  Shakespeare  or  of 
Lopez  de  Vega,  and  brought  out  in  1822,  which  caused  a  sort 
of  literary  revolution  when  the  great  question  of  Eomanticism 
versus  Classicism  was  a  burning  one  in  the  papers,  at  clubs, 
and  at  the  Academic.  Since  then  Camille  Maupin  has  written 
several  plays  and  a  novel  which  have  not  belied  the  success  of 
her  first  efforts,  now  rather  too  completely  forgotten. 

An  explanation  of  the  chain  of  circumstances  by  which 
a  girl  assumed  a  masculine  incarnation — by  which  Felicite 
des  Touches  made  herself  a  man  and  a  writer — of  how,  more 
fortunate  than  Madame  de  Stael,  she  remained  free,  and  so 
was  more  readily  excused  for  her  celebrity — will,  no  doubt, 
satisfy  much  curiosity,  and  justify  the  existence  of  one  of 
those  monstrosities  which  stand  up  among  mankind  like 
monuments,  their  fame  being  favored  by  their  rarity — for  in 
twenty  centuries  scarcely  twenty  great  women  are  to  be 
counted.  Hence,  though  she  here  plays  but  a  secondary  part, 
as  she  had  great  influence  over  Calyste,  and  is  a  figure  in  the 


58  BEATRIX 

literary  history  of  the  time,,  no  one  will  be  sorry  if  we  pause 
to  study  her  for  a  rather  longer  time  than  modern  fiction 
usually  allows. 

In  1793,  Mademoiselle  Felicite  des  Touches  found  herself 
an  orphan.  Thus  her  estates  escaped  the  confiscation  which  no 
doubt  would  have  fallen  on  her  father  or  brother.  Her  father 
died  on  the  10th  of  August,  killed  on  the  palace  steps  among 
the  defenders  of  the  King,  on  whom  he  was  in  waiting  as 
major  of  the  bodyguard.  Her  brother,  a  young  member  of  the 
corps,  was  massacred  at  les  Carmes.  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  was  but  two  years  old  when  her  mother  died  of  grief 
a  few  days  after  this  second  blow.  On  her  deathbed  Madame 
des  Touches  placed  her  little  girl  in  the  care  of  her  sister,  a 
nun  at  Chelles.  This  nun,  Madame  de  Faucombe,  very  pru- 
dently took  the  child  to  Faucombe,  an  estate  of  some  extent 
near  Nantes,  belonging  to  Madame  des  Touches,  where  she 
settled  with  three  Sisters  from  the  convent.  During  the  last 
days  of  the  Terror,  the  mob  of  Nantes  demolished  the  chateau 
and  seized  the  Sisters  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who 
were  thrown  into  prison  under  a  false  charge  of  having  har- 
bored emissaries  from  Pitt  and  from  Coburg.  The  ninth 
Thermidor  saved  them.  Felicite's  aunt  died  of  the  fright; 
two  of  the  Sisters  fled  from  France,  the  third  handed  the 
little  girl  over  to  her  nearest  relation,  Monsieur  de  Faucombe, 
her  mother's  uncle,  who  lived  at  Nantes,  and  then  joined  her 
companions  in  exile. 

Monsieur  de  Faucombe,  a  man  of  sixty,  had  married  a 
young  wife,  to  whom  he  left  the  management  of  his  affairs. 
He  busied  himself  only  with  archeology,  a  passion,  or,  to  be 
accurate,  a  mania,  which  helps  old  men  to  think  themselves 
alive.  His  ward's  education  was  left  entirely  to  chance. 
Felicite,  little  cared-for  by  a  young  woman  who  threw  her- 
self into  all  the  pleasures  of  the  Emperor's  reign,  brought  her- 
self up  like  a  boy.  She  sat  with  Monsieur  de  Faucombe  in 
his  library,  and  read  whatever  he  might  happen  to  be  read- 
ing Thus  she  knew  life  well  in  theory,  and  preserved  no 
innocence  of  mind  though  virginal  at  heart.  Her  intelligence 


BEATRIX  5S> 

wandered  through  all  the  impurities  of  science  while  her  heart 
remained  pure.  Her  knowledge  was  something  amazing,  fed 
by  her  passion  for  reading,  and  well  served  by  an  excellent 
memory.  Thus,  at  eighteen,  she  was  as  learned  as  the  authors 
of  to-day  ought  to  be  before  trying  to  write.  This  prodigious 
amount  of  study  controlled  her  passions  far  better  than  a  con- 
vent life,  which  only  inflames  a  young  girl's  imagination ;  this 
brain,  crammed  with  undigested  and  unclassified  information, 
governed  the  heart  of  a  child.  Such  a  depravity  of  mind, 
absolutely  devoid  of  any  influence  on  her  chastity  of  person, 
would  have  amazed  a  philosopher  or  an  observer,  if  any  one 
at  Nantes  could  have  suspected  the  fine  qualities  of  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches. 

The  result  was  in  inverse  proportion  to  the  cause :  Felicite 
had  no  predisposition  towards  evil;  she  conceived  of  every- 
thing by  her  intelligence,  but  held  aloof  from  the  facts.  She 
delighted  old  Faucombe,  and  helped  him  in  his  works,  writ- 
ing three  books  for  the  worthy  gentleman,  who  believed  them 
to  be  his  own,  for  his  spiritual  paternity  also  was  blind.  Such 
severe  work,  out  of  harmony  with  the  development  of  her  girl- 
hood, had  its  natural  effect ;  Felicite  fell  ill,  there  was  a  fever 
in  her  blood,  her  lungs  were  threatened  with  inflammation. 
The  doctors  ordered  her  horse-exercise  and  social  amusements. 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  became  a  splendid  horsewoman, 
and  had  recovered  in  a  few  months. 

At  eighteen  she  made  her  appearance  in  the  world,  where 
she  produced  such  a  sensation,  that  at  Nantes  she  was  never 
called  anything  but  the  beautiful  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 
But  the  adoration  of  which  she  was  the  object  left  her  insen- 
sible, and  she  had  come  to  this  by  the  influence  of  one  of  the 
sentiments  which  are  imperishable  in  a  woman,  however  su- 
perior she  may  be.  Snubbed  by  her  aunt  and  cousins,  who 
laughed  at  her  studies  and  made  fun  of  her  distant  manners, 
assuming  that  she  was  incapable  of  being  attractive,  Felicite 
aimed  at  being  light  and  coquettish,  in  short,  a  woman.  She 
had  expected  to  and  some  interchange  of  ideas,  some  fascina- 
tion on  a  level  with  her  own  lofty  intelligence;  she  was  dis- 


00  BEATRIX 

gusted  by  the  commonplaces  of  ordinary  conversation  and  the 
nonsense  of  flirtation;  above  all,  she  was  provoked  by  the 
aristocratic  airs  of  the  military,  to  whom  at  that  time  every- 
thing gave  way. 

She  had,  as  a  matter  of  course,  neglected  the  drawing-room 
arts.  When  she  found  herself  less  considered  than  the  dolls 
who  could  play  the  piano,  and  make  themselves  agreeable  by 
singing  ballads,  she  aspired  to  become  a  musician.  She  re- 
tired into  deep  solitude,  and  set  to  work  to  study  unremit- 
tingly under  the  guidance  of  the  best  master  in  the  town. 
She  was  rich,  she  sent  for  Steibelt  to  give  her  finishing  les- 
sons, to  the  great  astonishment  of  her  neighbors.  This 
princely  outlay  is  still  remembered  at  Nantes.  The  master's 
stay  there  cost  her  twelve  thousand  francs.  She  became  at 
last  a  consummate  musician.  Later,  in  Paris,  she  took  les- 
sons in  harmony  and  counterpoint,  and  composed  two  operas, 
which  were  immensely  successful,  though  the  public  never 
knew  her  secret.  These  operas  were  ostensibly  the  work  of 
Conti,  one  of  the  most  eminent  artists  of  our  day;  but  this 
circumstance  was  connected  with  the  history  of  her  heart, 
and  will  be  explained  presently.  The  mediocrity  of  provincial 
society  wearied  her  so  excessively,  her  imagination  was  full 
of  such  grand  ideas,  that  she  withdrew  from  all  the  drawing- 
rooms  after  reappearing  for  a  time  to  eclipse  all  other  women 
by  the  splendor  of  her  beauty,  to  enjoy  her  triumph  over  the 
musical  performers,  and  win  the  devotion  of  all  clever  people ; 
still,  after  proving  her  power  to  her  two  cousins,  and  driving 
two  lovers  to  desperation,  she  came  back  to  her  books,  to  her 
piano,  to  the  works  of  Beethoven,  and  to  old  Faucombe. 

In  1812  she  was  one-and-twenty ;  the  archaaologist  ac- 
counted to  her  for  his  management  of  her  property;  and 
from  that  time  forth  she  herself  controlled  her  fortune,  con- 
sisting of  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year  from  les  Touches, 
her  father's  estate;  twelve  thousand  francs,  the  income  at 
that  time  from  the  lends  of  Faucombe,  which  increased  by  a 
third  when  the  leases  were  renewed ;  besides  a  capital  sum  of 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  saved  by  her  guardian.  Fe- 


BEATRIX  61 

licite  derived  nothing  from  her  country  training  but  an  appre- 
hension of  money  matters  and  that  instinct  for  wise  adminis- 
tration which  perhaps  restores,,  in  the  provinces,  the  balance 
against  the  constant  tendency  of  capital  to  centre  in  Paris. 
She  withdrew  her  three  hundred  thousand  francs  from  the 
bank  where  the  archaeologist  had  deposited  them,  and  invested 
in  consols  just  at  the  time  of  the  disastrous  retreat  from 
Moscow.  Thus  she  had  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year  more. 
When  all  her  expenses  were  paid,  she  had  a  surplus  of  fifty 
thousand  francs  a  year  to  be  invested. 

A  girl  of  one-and-twenty,  with  such  a  power  of  will,  was  a 
match  for  a  man  of  thirty.  Her  intellect  had  gained  im- 
mense breadth  and  habits  of  criticism,  which  enabled  her  to 
judge  sanely  of  men  and  things,  art  and  politics.  Thencefor- 
ward she  purposed  leaving  Nantes;  but  old  Monsieur  Fau- 
combe  fell  ill  of  the  malady  that  carried  him  off.  She  was 
like  a  wife  to  the  old  man;  she  nursed  him  for  eighteen 
months  with  the  devotion  of  a  guardian  angel,  and  closed 
his  eyes  at  the  very  time  when  Napoleon  was  fighting  with 
Europe  over  the  dead  body  of  France.  She  therefore  post- 
poned her  departure  for  Paris  till  the  end  of  the  war. 

As  a  Eoyalist  she  flew  to  hail  the  return  of  the  Bourbons 
to  Paris.  She  was  welcomed  there  by  the  Grandlieus,  with 
whom  she  was  distantly  connected ;  but  then  befell  the  catas- 
trophe of  the  20th  of  March,  and  everything  remained  in 
suspense.  She  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing  on  the  spot  this 
last  resurrection  of  the  Empire,  of  admiring  the  Grande 
Armee  which  came  out  on  the  Champ  de  Mars,  as  in  an  arena, 
to  salute  its  Caesar  before  dying  at  Waterloo.  Felicite's  great 
and  lofty  soul  was  captivated  by  the  magical  spectacle.  Po- 
litical agitations  and  the  fairy  transformations  of  the  theat- 
rical drama,  lasting  for  three  months,  and  known  as  the  hun- 
dred days,  absorbed  her  wholly,  and  preserved  her  from  any 
passion,  in  the  midst  of  an  upheaval  that  broke  up  the  Roy- 
alist circle  in  which  she  had  first  come  out.  The  Grandlieus 
followed  the  Bourbons  to  Ghent,  leaving  their  house  at  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches'  service. 


82  BEATRIX 

Felicite,  who  could  not  accept  a  dependent  position,  bought 
for  the  sum  of  a  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  francs  one  of 
the  handsomest  mansions  in  the  Eue  du  Mont-Blanc,  where 
she  settled  on  the  return  of  the  Bourbons  in  1815 ;  the  garden 
alone  is  worth  two  million  francs  now.  Being  accustomed  to 
act  on  her  own  responsibility,  Felicite  soon  took  the  habit  of 
independent  action,  which  seems  the  privilege  of  men  only. 
In  1816  she  was  five-and- twenty.  She  knew  nothing  of  mar- 
riage; she  conceived  of  it  only  in  her  brain,  judged  of  it  by 
its  causes  instead  of  observing  its  effect,  and  saw  only  its 
disadvantages.  Her  superior  mind  rebelled  against  the  ab- 
dication which  begins  the  life  of  a  married  woman;  she 
keenly  felt  the  preciousness  of  independence,  and  had  noth- 
ing but  disgust  for  the  cares  of  motherhood.  These  details 
are  necessary  to  justify  the  anomalies  that  characterize  Ca- 
mille  Maupin.  She  never  knew  father  or  mother,  she  was 
her  own  mistress  from  her  childhood,  her  guardian  was  an  old 
antiquary,  chance  placed  her  in  the  domain  of  science  and 
imagination,  in  the  literary  world,  instead  of  keeping  her 
within  the  circle  drawn  by  the  futile  education  given  to 
women — a  mother's  lectures  on  dress,  on  the  hypocritical  pro- 
prieties, and  man-hunting  graces  of  her  sex.  And  so,  long 
before  she  became  famous,  it  could  be  seen  at  a  glance  that 
she  had  never  played  the  doll. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  year  1817,  Felicite  des  Touches  per- 
ceived that  her  face  showed  symptoms  not  indeed  of  fading, 
but  of  the  beginning  of  fatigue.  She  understood  that  her 
beauty  would  suffer  from  the  fact  of  her  persistent  celibacy; 
she  was  bent  on  remaining  beautiful,  for  at  that  time  she 
prized  her  beauty.  Knowledge  warned  her  of  the  doom  set 
by  Nature  on  her  creations,  which  deteriorate  as  much  by 
misapplication  as  by  ignorance  of  her  laws.  The  vision  of 
her  aunt's  emaciated  face  rose  before  her  and  made  her  shud- 
der. Thus  placed  between  marriage  and  passion,  she  deter- 
mained  to  remain  free ;  but  she  no  longer  scorned  the  homage 
that  she  met  with  on  all  hands. 

At  the  date  when  this  story  begins,  she  was  almost  the  same 


BEATRIX  63 

as  she  had  been  in  1817.  Eighteen  years  had  passed  over  her 
and  left  her  untouched;  at  the  age  of  forty  she  might  have 
called  herself  twenty-five.  Thus  a  picture  of  her  in  1836 
will  represent  her  as  she  was  in  1817.  Women  who  know 
under  what  conditions  of  temperament  and  beauty  a  woman 
must  live  to  resist  the  attacks  of  time,  will  understand  how 
and  why  Felicite  des  Touches  enjoyed  such  high  privileges, 
as  they  study  a  portrait  for  which  the  most  glowing  colors  of 
the  palette  must  be  brought  into  play. 

Brittany  offers  a  singular  problem  in  the  predominance  of 
brown  hair,  brown  eyes,  and  a -dark  complexion,  in  a  country 
so  close  to  England,  where  the  atmospheric  conditions  are  so 
nearly  similar.  Does  the  question  turn  on  the  wider  one  of 
race,  or  on  unobserved  physical  influences?  Scientific  men 
will  some  day  perhaps  inquire  into  the  cause  of  this  peculi- 
arity, which  does  not  exist  in  the  neighboring  province  of 
Normandy.  Pending  its  solution,  the  strange  fact  lies  before 
us  that  fair  women  are  rare  among  the  women  of  Brittany, 
who  almost  always  have  the  brilliant  eyes  of  Southerners; 
but  instead  of  showing  the  tall  figures  and  serpentine  grace 
of  Italy  or  Spain,  they  are  usually  small,  short,  with  neat, 
set  figures,  excepting  some  women  of  the  upper  classes  which 
have  been  crossed  by  aristocratic  alliances. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  a  thoroughbred  Bretonne,  is 
of  medium  height,  about  five  feet,  though  she  looks  taller. 
This  illusion  is  produced  by  the  character  of  her  countenance, 
which  gives  her  dignity.  She  has  the  complexion  which  is 
characteristic  of  Italian  beauty,  pale  olive  by  day,  and  white 
under  artificial  light ;  you  might  think  it  was  animated  ivory. 
Light  glides  over  such  a  skin  as  over  a  polished  surface,  it 
glistens  on  it ;  only  strong  emotion  can  bring  a  faint  flush  to 
the  middle  of  each  cheek,  and  it  disappears  at  once.  This 
peculiarity  gives  her  face  the  placidity  of  a  savage.  The  face, 
long  rather  than  oval,  resembles  that  of  some  beautiful  Isis 
in  the  bas-reliefs  of  Egina;  it  has  the  purity  of  a  Sphinx's 
head,  polished  by  desert  fires,  lovingly  touched  by  the  flame  of 
the  Egyptian  sun.  Her  hair,  black  and  thick,  falls  in  plaited 


64  BEATRIX 

loops  over  her  neck,  like  the  headdress  with  rigid  double 
locks  of  the  statues  at  Memphis,  accentuating  very  finely  the 
general  severity  of  her  features.  She  has  a  full,  broad  fore- 
head, bossy  at  the  temples,  bright  with  its  smooth  surface  on 
which  the  light  lingers,  and  moulded  like  that  of  a  hunting 
Diana;  a  powerful,  wilful  brow,  calm  and  still.  The  eye- 
brows, strongly  arched,  bend  over  eyes  in  which  the  fire 
sparkles  now  and  again  like  that  of  fixed  stars.  The  white 
of  the  eye  is  not  bluish,  nor  veined  with  red,  nor  is  it  pure 
white;  its  texture  looks  horny,  still  it  is  warm  in  tone;  the 
black  centre  has  an  orange  ring  round  the  edge;  it  is  bronze 
set  in  gold — but  living  gold,  animated  bronze.  The  pupil  is 
deep.  It  is  not,  as  in  some  eyes,  lined,  as  it  were,  like  a  mir- 
ror, reflecting  the  light,  and  making  them  look  like  the  eyes 
of  tigers  and  cats;  it  has  not  that  terrible  fixity  of  gaze  that 
makes  sensitive  persons  shiver ;  but  this  depth  has  infinitude, 
just  as  the  brightness  of  mirror-eyes  has  finality.  The  gaze 
of  the  observer  can  sink  and  lose  itself  in  that  soul,  which 
can  shrink  and  retire  as  rapidly  as  it  can  flash  forth  from 
those  velvet  eyes.  In  a  moment  of  passion,  Camille  Maupin's 
eye  is  superb;  the  gold  of  her  glance  lights  up  the  yellowish 
white  and  the  whole  flashes  fire;  but  when  at  rest  it  is  dull, 
the  torpor  of  deep  thought  often  gives  it  a  look  of  stupidity ; 
and  when  the  light  of  the  soul  is  absent,  the  lines  of  the  face 
also  look  sad.  The  lashes  are  short,  but  as  black  and  thick- 
set as  the  hair  of  an  ermine's  tail.  The  lids  are  tawny,  and 
netted  with  fine  red  veins,  giving  them  at  once  strength  and 
elegance,  two  qualities  hard  to  combine  in  women.  All  round 
the  eyes  there  is  not  the  faintest  wrinkle  or  stain.  Here 
again  you  will  think  of  Egyptian  granite  mellowed  by  time. 
Only  the  cheek-bones,  though  softly  rounded,  are  more  prom- 
inent than  in  most  women,  and  confirm  the  impression  of 
strength  stamped  on  the  face. 

Her  nose,  narrow  and  straight,  has  high-cut  nostrils,  with 
enough  of  passionate  dilation  to  show  the  rosy  gleam  of  their 
delicate  lining;  this  nose  is  well  set  on  to  the  brow,  to  which 
it  is  joined  by  an  exquisite  curve,  and  it  is  perfectly  white 


BEATRIX  66 

to  the  very  tip — a  tip  endowed  with  a  sort  of  proper  motion 
that  works  wonders  whenever  Camille  is  angry,  indignant,  or 
rebellious.  There  especially — as  Talma  noted — the  rage  or 
irony  of  lofty  souls  finds  expression.  Eigid  nostrils  betray 
a  certain  shallowness.  The  nose  of  a  miser  never  quivers,  it 
is  tightly  set  like  his  lips;  everything  in  his  face  is  as  close 
shut  as  himself. 

Camille's  mouth,  arched  at  the  corners,  is  brightly  red; 
the  lips,  full  of  blood,  supply  that  living,  impulsive  carmine 
that  gives  them  such  infinite  charm,  and  may  reassure  the 
lover  who  might  be  alarmed  by  the  grave  majesty  of  the  face. 
The  upper  lip  is  thin,  the  furrow  beneath  the  nose  dents  it 
low  down,  like  a  brow,  which  gives  peculiar  emphasis  to  her 
scorn.  Camille  has  no  difficulty  in  expressing  anger.  This 
pretty  lip  meets  the  broader  red  edge  of  a  lower  lip  that  is 
exquisitely  kind,  full  of  love,  and  carved,  it  might  be,  by  Phid- 
ias, as  the  edge  of  an  opened  pomegranate,  which  it  resembles 
in  color.  The  chin  is  round  and  firm,  a  little  heavy,  but  ex- 
pressing determination,  and  finishing  well  this  royal,  if  not 
goddess-like,  profile.  It  is  necessary  to  add  that  below  the 
nose,  the  lip  is  faintly  shaded  by  a  down  that  is  wholly  charm- 
ing ;  nature  would  have  blundered  if  she  had  not  there  placed 
that  tender,  smoky  tinge. 

The  ear  is  most  delicately  formed,  a  sign  of  other  concealed 
daintinesses.  The  bust  broad,  the  bosom  small  but  not  flat, 
the  hips  slender  but  graceful.  The  slope  of  the  back  is  mag- 
nificent, more  suggestive  of  the  Bacchus  than  of  the  Venus 
Callipyge.  Herein  we  see  a  detail  that  distinguishes  almost 
all  famous  women  from  the  rest  of  their  sex;  they  have  in 
this  a  vague  resemblance  to  men;  they  have  neither  the 
pliancy  nor  the  freedom  of  line  that  we  see  in  women 
destined  by  nature  to  be  mothers;  their  gait  is  unbroken  by 
a  gentle  sway.  This  observation  is,  indeed,  two-edged;  it 
has  its  counterpart  in  men  whose  hips  have  a  resemblance  to 
those  of  women, — men  who  are  cunning,  sly,  false,  and  cow- 
ardly. 

Camille's  head,  instead  of  having  a  hollow  at  the  nape  of 


66  BEATRIX 

the  neck,  is  set  on  her  shoulders  with  a  swelling  outrine  with- 
out an  inward  curve,  an  unmistakable  sign  of  power;  and 
this  neck,  in  some  attitudes,  has  folds  of  athletic  firmness. 
The  muscles  attaching  the  upper  arm,  splendidly  moulded, 
are  those  of  a  colossal  woman.  The  arm  is  powerfully  mod- 
eled, ending  in  wrists  of  English  slenderness,  and  pretty  deli- 
cate hands,  plump  and  full  of  dimples,  finished  off  with  pink 
nails  cut  to  an  almond  shape,  and  well  set  in  the  flesh.  Her 
hands  are  of  a  whiteness  which  proclaims  that  all  the  body, 
full,  firm,  and  solid,  is  of  a  quite  different  tone  from  her  face. 
The  cold,  steadfast  carriage  of  her  head  is  contradicted  by  the 
ready  mobility  of  the  lips,  their  varying  expression,  and  the 
sensitive  nostrils  of  an  artist. 

Still,  in  spite  of  this  exciting  promise,  not  wholly  visible 
to  the  profane,  there  is  something  provoking  in  the  calmness 
of  this  countenance.  The  face  is  melancholy  and  serious 
rather  than  gracious,  stamped  with  the  sadness  of  constant 
meditation.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  listens  more  than 
she  speaks.  She  is  alarming  by  her  silence  and  that  look  of 
deep  scrutiny.  Nobody  among  really  well-informed  persons 
can  ever  have  seen  her  without  thinking  of  the  real  Cleopatra, 
the  little  brown  woman  who  so  nearly  changed  the  face  of  the 
earth;  but  in  Camille  the  animal  is  so  perfect,  so  homo- 
geneous, so  truly  leonine,  that  a  man  with  anything  of  the 
Turk  in  him  regrets  the  embodiment  of  so  great  a  mind  in 
such  a  frame,  and  wishes  it  were  altogether  woman.  Every 
one  fears  lest  he  may  find  there  the  strange  corruption  of 
a  diabolical  soul.  Do  not  cold  analysis  and  positive  ideas 
throw  their  light  upon  the  passions  in  this  un wedded  soul? 
In  her,  does  not  judgment  take  the  place  of  feeling?  Or, 
a  still  more  terrible  phenomenon,  does  she  not  feel  and 
judge  both  together?  Her  brain  being  omnipotent,  can  she 
stop  where  other  women  stop?  Has  the  intellectual  power 
left  the  affections  weak?  Can  she  be  gracious?  Can  she 
condescend  to  the  pathetic  trifles  by  which  a  woman  busies, 
amuses,  and  interests  the  man  she  loves  ?  Does  she  not  crush 
a  sentiment  at  once  if  it  does  not  answer  to  the  infinite  that 


BEATRIX  fff 

she  apprehends  and  contemplates  ?  Who  can  fill  up  the  gulfs 
in  her  eyes? 

We  fear  lest  we  should  find  in  her  some  mysterious  ele- 
ment of  unsubdued  virginity.  The  strength  of  a  woman 
ought  to  be  merely  symbolical;  we  are  frightened  at  finding 
it  real.  Camille  Maupin  is  in  some  degree  the  living  image 
of  Schiller's  Isis,  hidden  in  the  depths  of  the  temple,  at 
whose  feet  the  priests  found  the  dying  gladiators  who  had 
dared  to  consult  her.  Her  various  "affairs/'  believed  in  by 
the  world,  and  not  denied  by  Camille  herself,  confirm  the 
doubts  suggested  by  her  appearance.  But  perhaps  she  en- 
joys this  calumny.  The  character  of  her  beauty  has  not 
been  without  effect  on  her  reputation;  it  has  helped  her, 
just  as  her  fortune  and  position  have  upheld  her  in  the  midst 
of  society.  If  a  sculptor  should  wish  to  make  an  admirable 
statue  of  Brittany,  he  might  copy  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 
Such  a  sanguine,  bilious  temperament  alone  can  withstand 
the  action  of  time.  The  perennially  nourished  texture  of 
such  a  skin,  as  it  were,  varnished,  is  the  only  weapon  given 
to  woman  by  nature  to  ward  off  wrinkles,  which  in  Camille 
are  hindered  also  by  the  passivity  of  her  features. 

In  1817  this  enchanting  woman  threw  open  her  house  to 
artists,  famous  authors,  learned  men,  and  journalists,  the 
men  to  whom  she  was  instinctively  attracted.  She  had  a 
drawing-room  like  that  of  Baron  Gerard,  where  the  aris- 
tocracy mingled  with  distinguished  talents  and  the  cream  of 
Parisian  womanhood.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  family 
connections  and  her  fine  fortune,  now  augmented  by  that  of 
her  aunt  the  nun,  protected  her  in  her  undertaking — a 
difficult  one  in  Paris — of  forming  a  circle.  Her  independ- 
ence was  one  cause  of  her  success.  Many  ambitious  mothers 
dreamed  of  getting  her  to  marry  a  son  whose  wealth  was 
disproportioned  to  the  splendor  of  his  armorial  bearings. 
Certain  peers  of  France,  attracted  by  her  eighty  thousand 
francs  a  year  and  tempted  by  her  splendid  house  and  estab- 
lishment, brought  the  vstrictest  and  most  fastidious  ladies  of 
their  family.  The  diplomatic  world,  on  the  look-out  for  wit 
and  amusement,  came  and  found  pleasure  there. 


68  BEATRIX 

Thus  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  the  centre  of  so  many 
interests,  could  study  the  different  comedies  which  all  men, 
even  the  most  distinguished,  are  led  to  play  by  passion,  ava- 
rice, or  ambition.  She  soon  saw  the  world  as  it  really  is,  and 
was  so  fortunate  as  not  to  fall  at  once  into  such  an  absorb- 
ing love  as  engrosses  a  woman's  intellect  and  faculties,  and 
prevents  her  wholesome  judgment.  Generally  a  woman  feels, 
enjoys,  and  judges,  each  in  turn;  hence  three  ages,  the  last 
coinciding  with  the  sad  period  of  old  age.  To  Felicite  the 
order  was  reversed.  Her  youth  was  shrouded  in  the  snows 
of  science,  the  chill  of  thoughtfulness.  This  transposition 
also  explains  the  oddity  of  her  life  and  the  character  of  her 
talents.  She  was  studying  men  at  the  age  when  most  women 
see  but  one;  she  despised  what  they  admire;  she  detected 
falsehood  in  the  flatteries  they  accept  as  truth;  she  laughed 
at  what  makes  them  serious. 

This  contradictory  state  lasted  a  long  time;  it  had  a  dis- 
astrous termination;  it  was  her  fate  to  find  her  first  love, 
new-born  and  tender  in  her  heart,  at  an  age  when  women 
are  required  by  nature  to  renounce  love.  Her  first  liaison 
was  kept  so  secret  that  no  one  ever  knew  of  it.  Felicite, 
like  all  women  who  believe  in  the  commonsense  of  their 
feelings,  was  led  to  count  on  finding  a  beautiful  soul  in  a 
beautiful  body;  she  fell  in  love  with  a  face,  and  discovered 
all  the  foolishness  of  a  lady's  man,  who  thought  of  her 
merely  as  a  woman.  It  took  her  some  time  to  get  over  her 
disgust  and  this  mad  connection.  Another  man  guessed  her 
trouble,  and  consoled  her  without  looking  for  any  return,  or 
at  any  rate  he  concealed  his  purpose.  Felicite  thought  she 
had  found  the  magnanimity  of  heart  and  mind  that  the 
dandy  had  lacked.  This  man  had  one  of  the  most  original 
intellects  of  the  day.  He  himself  wrote  under  a  pseudonym, 
and  his  first  works  revealed  him  as  an  admirer  of  Italy.  Fe- 
licite must  needs  travel  or  perpetuate  the  only  form  of  ig- 
norance in  which  she  remained.  This  man,  a  sceptic  and 
a  scoffer,  took  F61icit6  to  study  the  land  of  Art.  This  fa- 
mous "Anonymous"  may  be  regarded  as  Camille  Maupin's 


BEATRIX  «» 

teacher  and  creator.  He  reduced  her  vast  information  to 
order,  he  added  to  it  a  knowledge  of  the  masterpieces  of 
which  Italy  is  full,  and  gave  her  that  subtle  and  ingenious 
tone,  epigrammatic  and  yet  deep,  which  is  characteristic  of 
his  talent — always  a  little  eccentric  in  its  expression — but 
modified  in  Camille  Maupin  by  the  delicate  feeling  and  the 
ingenious  turn  natural  to  women;  he  inoculated  her  with 
a  taste  for  the  works  of  English  and  German  literature,  and 
made  her  learn  the  two  languages  while  traveling. 

At  Kome,  in  1820,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  found  her- 
self deserted  for  an  Italian.  But  for  this  disaster  she  might 
never  have  become  famous.  Napoleon  said  that  Misfortune 
was  midwife  to  Genius.  This  event  gave  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  at  once  and  for  ever  the  scorn  of  mankind  which 
is  her  great  strength.  Felicite  was  dead  and  Camille  was 
born. 

She  returned  to  Paris  in  the  company  of  Conti,  the  great 
musician,  for  whom  she  wrote  the  libretti  of  two  operas; 
but  she  had  no  illusions  left,  and  became,  though  the  world 
did  not  know  it,  a  sort  of  female  Don  Juan — without  either 
debts  or  conquests.  Encouraged  by  success,  she  published 
the  two  volumes  of  dramas  which  immediately  placed  Camille 
Maupin  among  the  anonymous  celebrities.  She  told  the 
story  of  her  betrayed  love  in  an  admirable  little  romance, 
one  of  the  masterpieces  of  the  time.  This  book,  a  dangerous 
example,  was  compared,  and  on  the  level,  with  Adolphe,  a 
horrible  lament,  of  which  the  counterpart  was  found  in  Ca- 
mille's  tale.  The  delicate  nature  of  her  literary  disguise  is 
not  yet  fully  understood ;  some  refined  intelligences  still  see 
nothing  in  it  but  the  magnanimity  that  subjects  a  man  to 
criticism  and  screens  a  woman  from  fame  by  allowing  her 
to  remain  unknown. 

In  spite  of  herself,  her  reputation  grew  every  day,  as  much 
by  the  influence  of  her  salon  as  for  her  repartees,  the  sound- 
ness of  her  judgment,  and  the  solidity  of  her  acquirements. 
She  was  regarded  as  an  authority,  her  witticisms  were  re- 
peated, she  could  not  abdicate  the  functions  with  which 


70  BEATRIX 

Parisian  society  invested  her.  She  became  a  recognized  ex- 
ception. The  fashionable  world  bowed  to  the  talent  and  the 
wealth  of  this  strange  girl;  it  acknowledged  and  sanctioned 
her  independence;  women  admired  her  gifts,  and  men  her 
beauty.  Indeed,  her  conduct  was  always  ruled  by  social  pro- 
prieties. Her  friendships  seemed  to  be  entirely  Platonic. 
Iliere  was  nothing  of  the  authoress — the  female  author — 
about  her;  as  a  woman  of  the  world  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  is  delightful — weak  at  appropriate  moments,  indo- 
lent, coquettish,  devoted  to  dress,  charmed  with  the  trivialities 
that  appeal  to  women  and  poets. 

She  perfectly  understood  that  after  Madame  de  Stael  there 
was  no  place  in  this  century  for  a  Sappho,  and  that  no  Ninon 
could  exist  in  Paris  where  there  were  no  grand  Seigneurs,  no 
voluptuous  Court.  She  is  the  Ninon  of  intellect ;  she  adores 
art  and  artists ;  she  goes  from  the  poet  to  the  musician,  from 
the  sculptor  to  the  prose-writer.  She  is  full  of  a  noble  gener- 
osity that  verges  on  credulity,  so  ready  is  she  to  pity  mis- 
fortune and  to  disdain  the  fortunate.  Since  1830  she  has 
lived  in  a  chosen  circle  of  proved  friends,  who  truly  love  and 
esteem  each  other.  She  dwells  far  removed  from  such  tur- 
moil as  Madame  de  Stael's,  and  not  less  far  from  political 
conflict;  and  she  makes  great  fun  of  Camille  Maupin  as 
the  younger  brother  of  George  Sand,  of  whom  she  speaks  as 
"Brother  Cain,"  for  this  new  glory  has  killed  her  own. 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  admires  her  happier  rival  with 
angelic  readiness,  without  any  feeling  of  jealousy  or  covert 
envy. 

Until  the  time  when  this  story  opens  she  had  led  the  hap- 
piest life  conceivable  for  a  woman  who  is  strong  enough  to 
take  care  of  herself.  She  had  come  to  les  Touches  five  or 
six  times  between  1817  and  1834.  Her  first  visit  had  been 
made  just  after  her  first  disenchantment,  in  1818.  Her  house 
at  les  Touches  was  uninhabitable;  she  sent  her  steward  to 
Guerande,  and  took  his  little  house  at  les  Touches.  As  yet  she 
had  no  suspicion  of  her  coming  fame;  she  was  sad,  she 
would  see  no  one;  she  wanted  to  contemplate  herself,  as  it 


BEATRIX  71 

were,  after  this  great  catastrophe.  She  wrote  to  a  lady  in 
Paris,  a  friend,  explaining  her  intentions  and  giving  instruc- 
tions for  furniture  to  be  sent  for  les  Touches.  The  things 
came  by  ship  to  Nantes,  were  transhipped  to  a  smaller  boat 
for  le  Croisic,  and  thence  were  carried,  not  without  diffi- 
culty, across  the  sands  to  les  Touches.  She  sent  for  work- 
men from  Paris,  and  settled  herself  at  les  Touches,  which 
she  particularly  liked.  She  meant  to  meditate  there  on  the 
events  of  life,  as  in  a  little  private  Chartreuse. 

At  the  beginning  of  winter  she  returned  to  Paris.  Then 
the  little  town  of  Guerande  was  torn  by  diabolical  curiosity ; 
nothing  was  talked  of  but  the  Asiatic  luxury  of  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches.  The  notary,  her  agent,  gave  tickets  to  admit 
visitors  to  les  Touches,  and  people  came  from  Batz,  from  le 
Croisic,  and  from  Savenay.  This  curiosity  produced  in  two 
years  the  enormous  sum  for  the  gatekeeper  and  gardener  of 
seventeen  francs. 

Mademoiselle  did  not  come  there  again  till  two  years  later, 
on  her  return  from  Italy,  and  arrived  by  le  Croisic.  For 
some  time  no  one  knew  that  she  was  at  Guerande,  and  with 
her  Conti  the  composer.  Her  appearance  at  intervals  did 
not  greatly  excite  the  curiosity  of  the  little  town  of  Guerande. 
Her  steward  and  the  notary  at  most  had  been  in  the  secret 
of  Camille  Maupin's  fame.  By  this  time,  however,  new  ideas 
had  made  some  little  progress  at  Guerande,  and  several  per- 
sons knew  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  double  existence. 
The  postmaster  got  letters  addressed  to  "Camille  Maupin, 
aux  Touches." 

At  last  the  veil  was  rent.  In  a  district  so  essentially 
Catholic,  old-world,  and  full  of  prejudices,  the  strange  life  led 
by  this  illustrious  and  unmarried  woman  could  not  fail  to 
start  the  rumors  which  had  frightened  the  Abbe  Grimont; 
it  could  never  be  understood;  she  seemed  an  anomaly. 

Felicite  was  not  alone  at  les  Touches;  she  had  a  guest. 
This  visitor  was  Claude  Vignon,  the  haughty  and  contemptu- 
ous writer  who,  though  he  has  never  published  anything  but 
criticism,  has  impressed  the  public  and  literary  circles  with 


72  BEATRIX 

an  idea  of  his  superiority.  Felieite,  who  for  the  last  seven 
years  had  made  this  writer  welcome,  as  she  had  a  hundred 
others — authors,  journalists,  artists,  and  people  of  fashion — 
who  knew  his  inelastic  temperament,  his  idleness,  his  utter 
poverty,  his  carelessness,  and  his  disgust  at  things  in  general, 
seemed  by  her  behavior  to  him  to  wish  to  marry  him.  She 
explained  her  conduct,  incomprehensible  to  her  friends,  by 
her  ambition  and  the  horror  she  felt  of  growing  old;  she 
wanted  to  place  the  rest  of  her  life  in  the  hands  of  a  su- 
perior man  for  whom  her  fortune  might  be  a  stepping-stone, 
and  who  would  uphold  her  importance  in  the  literary  world. 
So  she  had  carried  off  Claude  Vignon  from  Paris  to  les 
Touches,  as  an  eagle  takes  a  kid  in  his  talons,  to  study  him 
and  take  some  vehement  step;  but  she  was  deceiving  both 
Calyste  and  Claude — she  was  not  thinking  of  marriage.  She 
was  in  the  most  violent  throes  that  can  convulse  a  soul  so 
firm  as  hers,  for  she  found  herself  the  dupe  of  her  own  in- 
tellect, and  saw  her  life  illuminated  too  late  by  the  sunshine 
of  love,  glowing  as  it  glows  in  the  heart  of  a  girl  of  twenty. 
Now  for  a  picture  of  Camille's  "Chartreuse." 
At  a  few  hundred  paces  from  Guerande  the  terra  firma  of 
Brittany  ends,  and  the  salt  marshes  and  sand-hills  begin.  A 
rugged  road,  to  which  vehicles  are  unknown,  leads  down  a 
ravine  to  the  desert  of  sands  left  by  the  sea  as  neutral  ground 
between  the  waters  and  the  land.  This  desert  consists  of  bar- 
ren hills,  of  "pans"  of  various  sizes  edged  with  a  ridge  of 
clay,  in  which  the  salt  is  collected,  of  the  creek  which  divides 
the  mainland  from  the  island  of  le  Croisic.  Though  in  geog- 
raphy le  Croisic  is  a  peninsula,  as  it  is  attached  to  Brittany 
only  by  the  strand  between  it  and  the  Bourg  de  Batz,  a 
shifting  bottom  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  cross,  it  may 
be  regarded  as  an  island.  At  an  angle  where  the  road  from 
le  Croisic  to  Guerande  joins  the  road  on  the  mainland,  stands 
a  country  house,  enclosed  in  a  large  garden  remarkable  for 
its  wrung  and  distorted  pine-trees — some  spreading  parasol- 
like  at  the  top,  others  stripped  of  their  boughs,  and  all  show- 
ing red,  scarred  trunks  where  the  bark  has  been  torn  away. 


BEATRIX  78 

These  trees,  martyrs  to  the  storm,  growing  literally  in  spite 
of  wind  and  tide,  prepare  the  mind  for  the  melancholy  and 
strange  spectacle  of  the  salt  marshes,  and  the  sand-hills  look- 
ing like  solidified  waves. 

The  house,  well  built  of  schistose  stone  and  cement  held 
together  by  courses  of  granite,  has  no  pretensions  to  archi- 
tecture; the  eye  sees  only  a  bare  wall,  regularly  pierced  by 
the  windows ;  those  on  the  first  floor  have  large  panes,  on  the 
ground  floor  small  quarries.  Above  the  first  floor  there  are 
lofts,  under  an  enormously  high-pointed  roof,  with  a  gable  at 
each  end,  and  two  large  dormers  on  each  side.  Under  the 
angle  of  each  gable  a  window  looks  out,  like  a  Cyclops'  eye, 
to  the  west  over  the  sea,  to  the  east  at  Guerande.  One  side 
of  the  house  faces  the  Guerande  road;  the  other  the  waste 
over  which  le  Croisic  is  seen,  and  beyond  that  the  open  sea. 
A  little  stream  escapes  through  an  opening  in  the  garden 
wall  on  the  side  by  the  road  to  le  Croisic,  which  it  crosses, 
and  is  soon  lost  in  the  sand,  or  in  the  little  pool  of  salt 
water  enclosed  by  the  sand-hills  and  marsh-land,  being  left 
there  by  the  arm  of  the  sea. 

A  few  fathoms  of  roadway,  constructed  in  this  break  in 
the  soil,  leads  to  the  house.  It  is  entered  through  a  gate; 
the  courtyard  is  surrounded  by  unpretentious  rural  out- 
houses— a  stable,  a  coach-house,  a  gardener's  cottage  with  a 
poultry  yard  and  sheds  adjoining,  of  more  use  to  the  gate- 
keeper than  to  his  mistress.  The  gray  tones  of  this  building 
harmonize  delightfully  with  the  scenery  it  stands  in.  The 
grounds  are  an  oasis  in  this  desert,  on  the  edge  of  which  the 
traveler  has  passed  a  mud-hovel,  where  custom-house  officers 
keep  guard.  This  house,  with  no  lands,  or  rather  of  which 
the  lands  lie  in  the  district  of  Guerande,  derives  an  income  of 
ten  thousand  francs  from  the  marshes,  and  from  farms  scat- 
tered about  the  mainland.  This  was  the  fief  of  les  Touches, 
deprived  of  its  feudal  revenues  by  the  Revolution.  Les 
Touches  is  still  a  property;  the  marshmen  still  speak  of  the 
Chateau  and  they  would  talk  of  the  Lord  if  the  owner  were 
not  a  woman.  When  Felicite  restored  les  Touches,  she  was 


74  BEATRIX 

too  much  of  an  artist  to  think  of  altering  the  desolate-look- 
ing exterior  which  gives  this  lonely  building  the  appearance 
of  a  prison.  Only  the  gate  was  improved  by  the  addition 
of  two  brick  piers  with  an  architrave,  under  which  a  carriage 
can  drive  in.  The  courtyard  was  planted. 

The  arrangement  of  the  ground  floor  is  common  to  most 
country  houses  built  a  hundred  years  ago.  The  dwelling  was 
evidently  constructed  on  the  ruins  of  a  little  castel  perched 
there  as  a  link  connecting  le  Croisic  and  Batz  with  Guerandc, 
and  lording  it  over  the  marshes.  A  hall  had  been  contrived 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  The  first  room  is  a  large  wain- 
scoted anteroom  where  Felicite  has  a  billiard-table;  nest 
comes  an  immense  drawing-room  with  six  windows,  two  of 
which,  at  the  gable-end,  form  doors  leading  to  the  garden, 
down  ten  steps,  corresponding  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
room  with  the  door  into  the  billiard-room,  and  that  into 
the  dining-room.  The  kitchen,  at  the  other  end,  communi- 
cates with  the  dining-room  through  the  pantry.  The  staircase 
is  between  the  billiard-room  and  the  kitchen,  which  formerly. 
had  a  door  into  the  hall;  this  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
closed,  and  opened  one  to  the  courtyard. 

The  loftiness  and  spaciousness  of  the  rooms  enables  Ca- 
mille  to  treat  this  ground  with  noble  simplicily.  She  was 
careful  not  to  introduce  any  elaboration  of  detail.  The 
drawing-room,  painted  gray,  has  old  mahogany  furniture 
with  green  silk  cushions,  white  cotton  window  curtains  bor- 
dered with  green,  two  consoles,  and  a  round  table;  in  the 
middle  is  a  carpet  with  a  large  pattern  in  squares;  over 
the  huge  chimney-place  are  an  immense  mirror  and  a  clock 
representing  Apollo's  car,  between  candelabra  of  the  style  of 
the  Empire.  The  billiard-room  has  gray  cotton  curtains, 
bordered  with  green,  and  two  divans.  The  dining-room  fur- 
niture consists  of  four  large  mahogany  sideboards,  a  table, 
twelve  mahogany  chairs  with  horse-hair  seats,  and  some 
magnificent  engravings  by  Audran  in  mahogany  frames. 
From  the  middle  of  the  ceiling  hangs  an  elegant  lamp  such 
as  were  usual  on  the  staircases  of  fine  houses,  with  two  lights;. 


BEATRIX  75 

All  the  ceilings  and  the  beams  supporting  them  are  painted 
to  imitate  wood.  The  old  staircase,  of  wood  with  a  heavy 
balustrade,  is  carpeted  with  green  from  top  to  bottom. 

On  the  first  floor  were  two  sets  of  rooms  divided  by  the 
staircase.  Camille  chose  for  her  own  those  which  look  over 
the  marshes,  the  sand-hills,  and  the  sea,  arranging  them  as  a 
little  sitting-room,  a  bedroom,  a  dressing-room,  and  a  study. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  house  she  contrived  two  bedrooms, 
each  with  a  dressing-closet  and  anteroom.  The  servants' 
rooms  are  above.  The  two  spare  rooms  had  at  first  only  the 
most  necessary  furniture.  The  artistic  luxuries  for  which 
she  had  sent  to  Paris  she  reserved  for  her  own  rooms.  In 
this  gloomy  and  melancholy  dwelling,  looking  out  on  that 
gloomy  and  melancholy  landscape,  she  wanted  to  have  the 
most  fantastic  creations  of  art.  Her  sitting-room  is  hung 
with  fine  Gobelin  tapestry,  set  in  wonderfully  carved  frames. 
The  windows  are  draped  with  heavy  antique  stuffs,  a  splendid 
brocade  with  a  doubly  shot  ground,  gold  and  red,  yellow 
and  green,  falling  in  many  bold  folds,  edged  with  royal  fringes 
and  tassels  worthy  of  the  most  splendid  baldachins  of  the 
Church.  The  room  contains  a  cabinet  which  her  agent  found 
for  her,  worth  seven  or  eight  thousand  francs  now,  a  table 
of  carved  ebony,  a  writing  bureau  brought  from  Venice,  with 
a  hundred  drawers,  inlaid  with  arabesques  of  ivory,  and 
some  beautiful  Gothic  furniture.  There  are  pictures  and 
statuettes,  the  best  that  an  artist  friend  could  select  in  the 
old  curiosity  shops,  where  the  dealers  never  suspected  in 
1818  the  price  their  treasures  would  afterwards  fetch.  On 
her  tables  stand  fine  Chinese  vases  of  grotesque  designs.  The 
carpet  is  Persian,  smuggled  in  across  the  sand-hills. 

Her  bedroom  is  in  the  Louis  XV.  style  and  a  perfectly 
exact  imitation.  Here  we  have  the  carved  wooden  bedstead, 
painted  white,  with  the  arched  head  and  side,  and  figures 
of  Loves  throwing  flowers,  the  lower  part  stuffed  and  up- 
holstered in  brocaded  silk,  the  crown  above  decorated  with 
four  bunches  of  feathers;  the  walls  are  hung  with  Indian 
chintz  draped  with  silk  cords  and  knots.  The  fireplace  is 


76  BEATRIX 

finished  with  rustic  work,  the  clock  of  ormolu,  between  two 
large  vases  of  the  choicest  blue  Sevres  mounted  in  gilt  cop- 
per ;  the  mirror  is  framed  to  match.  The  Pompadour  toilet- 
table  has  its  lace  hangings  and  its  glass;  and  then  there 
is  all  the  fanciful  small  furniture,  the  duchesses,  the  couch, 
the  little  formal  settee,  the  easy-chair  with  a  quilted  back, 
the  lacquer  screen,  the  curtains  of  silk  to  match  the  chairs, 
lined  with  pink  satin  and  draped  with  thick  ropes ;  the  carpet 
woven  at  la  Savonnerie — in  short,  all  the  elegant,  rich,  sump- 
tuous, and  fragile  things  among  which  the  ladies  of  the 
eighteenth  century  made  love. 

The  study,  absolutely  modern,  in  contrast  with  the  gallant 
suggestiveness  of  the  days  of  Louis  XV.,  has  pretty  ma- 
hogany furniture.  The  book-shelves  are  full;  it  looks  like 
a  boudoir;  there  is  a  divan  in  it.  It  is  crowded  with  the 
dainty  trifles  that  women  love;  books  that  lock  up,  boxes 
for  handkerchiefs  and  gloves;  pictured  lamp-shades,  statu- 
ettes, Chinese  grotesques,  writing-cases,  two  or  three  albums, 
paper-weights,  in  short,  every  fashionable  toy.  The  curious 
visitor  notes  with  uneasy  surprise  a  pair  of  pistols,  a  narghile, 
a  riding  whip,  a  hammock,  a  pipe,  a  fowling-piece,  a  blouse, 
some  tobacco,  and  a  soldier's  knapsack — a  motley  collection 
characteristic  of  Felicite. 

Every  lofty  soul  on  looking  round  must  be  struck  by  the 
peculiar  beauty  of  the  landscape  that  spreads  its  breadth  be- 
yond the  grounds,  the  last  vegetation  of  the  Continent.  Those 
dismal  squares  of  brackish  water,  divided  by  little  white 
dykes  on  which  the  marshman  walks,  all  in  white,  to  rake 
out  and  collect  the  salt  and  heap  it  up;  that  tract  over 
which  salt  vapors  rise,  •  forbidding  birds  to  fly  across,  while 
they  at  the  same  time  choke  every  attempt  at  plant -life ;  those 
sands  where  the  eye  can  find  no  comfort  but  in  the  stiff  ever- 
green leaves  of  a  small  plant  with  rose-colored  flowers  and 
in  the  Carthusian  pink;  that  pool  of  sea-water,  the  sand 
of  the  dunes,  and  the  view  of  le  Croisic — a  miniature  town 
dropped  like  Venice  into  the  sea;  and  beyond,  the  immensity 
of  ocean,  tossing  a  fringe  of  foam  over  the  granite  reefs  to 


BEATRIX  77 

emphasize  their  wild  forms, — this  scene  elevates  while  it  sad- 
dens the  spirit,  the  effect  always  produced  in  the  end  by 
any thing  sublime  which  makes  us  yearn  regretfully  for  un- 
known things  that  the  soul  apprehends  at  unattainable 
heights.  Indeed,  these  wild  harmonies  have  no  charm  for  any 
but  lofty  natures  and  great  sorrows.  This  desert,  not  un- 
broken, where  the  sunbeams  are  sometimes  reflected  from 
the  water  and  the  sand,  whiten  the  houses  of  Batz,  and  ripple 
over  the  roofs  of  le  Croisic  with  a  pitiless  dazzling  glare, 
would  absorb  Camille  for  days  at  a  time.  She  rarely  turned 
to  the  delightful  green  views,  the  thickets,  and  flowery 
hedges  that  garland  Guerande  like  a  bride,  with  flowers  and 
posies  and  veils  and  festoons.  She  was  suffering  dreadful 
and  unknown  misery. 

As  Calyste  saw  the  weather-cocks  of  the  two  gables  peep- 
ing above  the  furze-bushes  of  the  highroad  and  the  gnarled 
heads  of  the  fir-trees,  the  air  seemed  to  him  lighter;  to  him 
Guerande  was  a  prison,  his  life  was  at  les  Touches.  Who 
cannot  understand  the  attractions  it  held  for  a  simple-minded 
lad?  His  love,  like  that  of  Cherubino,  which  had  brought 
him  to  the  feet  of  a  personage  who  had  been  a  great  idea 
to  him  before  being  a  woman,  naturally  survived  her  inex- 
plicable rejections.  This  feeling,  which  is  rather  the  desire 
for  love  than  love  itself,  had  no  doubt  failed  to  elude  the 
inexorable  analysis  of  Camille  Maupin,  and  hence  perhaps 
her  repulses,  a  nobleness  of  mind  misunderstood  by  Calyste. 
And,  then,  the  marvels  of  modern  civilization  seemed  all  the 
more  dazzling  here  by  contrast  with  Guerande,  where  the 
poverty  of  the  Guenics  was  considered  splendor.  Here, 
spread  before  the  ravished  eyes  of  this  ignorant  youth,  who 
had  never  seen  anything  but  the  yellow  broom  of  Brittany 
and  the  heaths  of  la  Vendee,  lay  the  Parisian  glories  of  a 
new  world;  just  as  here  he  heard  an  unknown  and  sonorous 
language.  Calyste  here  listened  to  the  poetical  tones  of  the 
finest  music,  the  amazing  music  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
in  which  melody  and  harmony  vie  with  each  other  as  equal 
powers,  and  singing  and  orchestration  have  achieved  incred- 


78  BEATRIX 

ible  perfection.  He  here  saw  the  works  of  the  most  prodigal 
painting — that  of  the  French  school  of  to-day,  the  inheritor 
of  Italy,  Spain,  and  Flanders,  in  which  talent  has  become 
so  common  that  our  eyes  and  hearts,  weary  of  so  much  tal- 
ent, cry  out  loudly  for  a  genius.  He  here  read  those  works 
of  imagination,  those  astounding  creations  of  modern  litera- 
ture, which  produce  their  fullest  effect  on  a  fresh  young 
heart.  In  short,  our  grand  nineteenth  century  rose  before 
him  in  all  its  magnificence  as  a  whole — its  criticism,  its 
struggles  for  every  kind  of  renovation,  its  vast  experiments, 
almost  all  measured  by  the  standard  of  the  giant  who  nursed 
its  infancy  in  his  flag,  and  sang  it  hymns  to  an  accom- 
paniment of  the  terrible  bass  of  cannon. 

Initiated  by  Felicite  into  all  this  grandeur,  which  perhaps 
escapes  the  ken  of  those  who  put  it  on  the  stage  and  are  its 
makers,  Calyste  satisfied  at  les  Touches  the  love  of  the  mar- 
velous that  is  so  strong  at  his  age,  and  that  guileless  ad- 
miration, the  first  love  of  a  growing  man,  which  is  so  wroth 
with  criticism.  It  is  so  natural  that  flame  should  fly  up- 
wards !  He  heard  the  light  Parisian  banter,  the  graceful 
irony  which  revealed  to  him  what  French  wit  should  be,  and 
awoke  in  him  a  thousand  ideas  that  had  been  kept  asleep  by 
the  mild  torpor  of  home  life.  To  him,  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  was  the  mother  of  his  intelligence,  a  mother  with 
whom  he  might  be  in  love  without  committing  a  crime.  She 
was  so  kind  to  him:  a  woman  is  always  adorably  kind  to  a 
man  in  whom  she  has  inspired  a  passion,  even  though  she 
should  not  seem  to  share  it.  At  this  moment  Felicite  was 
giving  him  music  lessons.  To  him  the  spacious  rooms  on  the 
ground  floor,  looking  all  the  larger  by  reason  of  the  skilful 
arrangement  of  the  lawns  and  shrubs  in  the  little  park;  the 
staircase,  lined  with  masterpieces  of  Italian  patience — carved 
wood,  Venetian  and  Florentine  mosaics,  bas-reliefs  in  ivory 
and  marble,  curious  toys  made  to  the  order  of  the  fairies 
of  the  Middle  Ages;  the  upper  rooms,  so  cozy,  so  dainty, 
so  voluptuously  artistic,  were  all  infused  and  living  with 
a  light,  a  spirit,  an  atmosphere,  that  were  supernatural,  in- 


BEATRIX  79 

definable,  and  strange.  The  modern  world  with  its  poetry 
was  in  strong  contrast  to  the  solemn,  patriarchal  world  of 
Guerande,  and  the  two  systems  here  were  face  to  face.  On 
one  hand,  the  myriad  effects  of  art;  on  the  other,  the  sim- 
plicity of  wild  Brittany.  No  one,  then,  need  ask  why  the 
poor  boy,  as  weary  as  his  mother  was  of  the  subtleties  of 
mouclie,  always  felt  a  qualm  as  he  entered  this  house,  as  he 
rang  the  bell,  as  he  crossed  the  yard.  It  is  to  be  observed 
that  these  presentiments  cease  to  agitate  men  of  riper  growth, 
inured  to  the  mishaps  of  life,  whom  nothing  can  surprise, 
and  who  are  prepared  for  everything. 

As  he  went  in,  Calyste  heard  the  sound  of  the  piano;  he 
thought  that  Camille  Maupin  was  in  the  drawing-room ;  but 
on  entering  the  billiard-room  he  could  no  longer  hear  it. 
Camille  was  playing,  no  doubt,  on  the  little  upright  piano, 
brought  for  her  from  England  by  Conti,  which  stood  in  the 
little  drawing-room  above.  As  he  mounted  the  stairs,  where 
the  thick  carpet  completely  deadened  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps, Calyste  went  more  and  more  slowly.  He  perceived 
that  this  music  was  something  extraordinary.  Felicite  was 
playing  to  herself  alone;  she  was  talking  to  herself.  In- 
stead of  going  in,  the  young  man  sat  down  on  a  Gothic  settle 
with  a  green  velvet  cushion  on  the  landing,  beneath  the 
window,  which  was  artistically  framed  in  carved  wood  stained 
with  walnut  juice  and  varnished. 

Nothing  could  be  more  mysteriously  melancholy  than  Ca- 
mille's  improvisation ;  it  might  have  been  the  cry  of  a  soul 
wailing  a  De  profundis  to  God  from  the  depths  of  the  grave. 
The  young  lover  knew  it  for  the  prayer  of  love  in  despair,  the 
tenderness  of  resigned  grief,  the  sighing  of  controlled  an- 
guish. Camille  was  amplifying,  varying,  and  changing  the 
introduction  to  the  cavatina,  "Grace  pour  toi,  grace  pour 
moi,"  from  the  fouith  act  of  Robert  le  Diable.  Suddenly  she 
began  to  sing  the  scena  in  heartrending  tones,  and  broke  off. 
Calyste  went  in  and  saw  the  reason  of  this  abrupt  ending. 
Poor  Camille  Maupin,  beautiful  Felicite,  turned  to  him  with- 
out affectation,  her  face  bathed  in  tears,  took  out  her  hand- 
kerchief to  wipe  them  away,  and  said  simply : 


80  BEATRIX 

"Good-morning." 

She  was  charming  in  her  morning  dress ;  on  her  head  was 
one  of  the  red  chenille  nets  at  that  time  in  fashion,  from 
which  the  shining  curls  of  her  black  hair  fell  on  her  neck. 
A  very  short  pelisse  formed  a  modern  Greek  tunic,  showing 
below  it  cambric  trousers,  with  embroidered  frills,  and  the 
prettiest  scarlet  and  gold  Turkish  slippers. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Calyste. 

"He  has  not  come  back/'  she  replied,  standing  up  at  the 
window,  and  looking  out  over  the  sands,  the  creek,  and  the 
marshes. 

This  reply  accounted  for  her  costume.  Camille,  it  would 
seem,  was  expecting  Claude  Vignon,  and  she  was  fretted  as 
a  woman  who  had  wasted  her  pains.  A  man  of  thirty  would 
have  seen  this.  Calyste  only  saw  that  she  was  unhappy. 

"You  are  anxious?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  melancholy  that  this  boy  could 
not  fathom.  Calyste  was  hastily  leaving  the  room. 

"Well,  where  are  you  going  ?" 

"To  find  him." 

"Dear  child !"  said  she,  taking  his  hand,  and  drawing  him 
to  her  with  one  of  those  tearful  looks  which  to  a  young  soul 
is-  the  highest  reward.  "Are  you  mad  ?  Where  do  you  think 
you  can  find  him  on  this  shore?" 

"I  will  find  him." 

"Your  mother  will  suffer  mortal  anguish.  Besides — stay. 
Come,  I  insist  upon  it,"  and  she  made  him  sit  down  on  the 
divan.  "Do  not  break  your  heart  about  me.  These  tears  that 
you  see  are  the  tears  we  take  pleasure  in.  There  is  a  fac- 
ulty in  women  which  men  have  not:  that  of  abandoning 
ourselves  to  our  nerves  by  indulging  our  feelings  to  excess. 
By  imagining  certain  situations,  and  giving  way  to  the  idea, 
we  work  ourselves  up  to  tears,  sometimes  into  a  serious  con- 
dition and  real  illness.  A  woman's  fancies  are  not  the  sport 
of  the  mind  merely,  but  of  the  heart. — You  have  come  at 
the  right  moment ;  solitude  is  bad  for  me.  I  am  not  deluded 
by  the  wish  he  felt  to  go  without  me  to  study  le  Croisic 
and  its  rocks,  the  Bourg  de  Batz,  and  its  sands  and  salt- 


BEATRIX  81 

marshes.  I  knew  he  would  spend  several  days  over  it  instead 
of  one.  He  wished  to  leave  us  two  alone;  he  is  jealous,  or 
rather  he  is  acting  jealousy.  You  are  young ;  you  are  hand- 
some." 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  sooner  ?  Must  I  come  no  more  ?" 
asked  Calyste,  failing  to  restrain  a  tear  that  rolled  down  his 
r'leek,  and  touched  Felicite  deeply. 

"You  are  an  angel !"  she  exclaimed. 

Then  she  lightly  sang  Mathilde's  strain  Restez  out  of 
William  Tell,  to  efface  all  gravity  from  this  grand  reply  of 
9  princess  to  her  subject. 

"He  thus  hopes/'  she  added,  "to  make  me  believe  in  a 
greater  love  for  me  than  he  feels.  He  knows  all  the  regard 
I  feel  for  him,"  she  went  on,  looking  narrowly  at  Calyste, 
"but  he  is  perhaps  humiliated  to  find  himself  my  inferior 
in  this.  Possibly,  too,  he  has  formed  some  suspicions  of 
you,  and  thinks  he  will  take  us  by  surprise. — But,  even  if 
he  is  guilty  of  nothing  worse  than  of  wishing  to  enjoy  the 
delights  of  this  expedition  in  the  wilds  without  -me,  of  re- 
fusing to  let  me  share  his  excursions,  and  the  ideas  the 
scenes  may  arouse  in  him,  of  leaving  me  in  mortal  alarms, — 
is  not  that  enough?  His  great  brain  has  no  more  love  for 
me  than  had  the  musician,  the  wit,  the  soldier.  Sterne  is 
right :  names  have  a  meaning,  and  mine  is  the  bitterest 
mockery.  I  shall  die  without  ever  finding  in  a  man  such 
love  as  I  have  in  my  heart,  such  poetry  as  I  have  in  my  soul." 

She  sat  with  her  arms  hanging  limp,  her  head  thrown 
back  on  the  cushion,  her  eyes  dull  with  concentrated  thought, 
and  fixed  on  a  flower  in  the  carpet.  The  sufferings  of  su- 
perior minds  are  mysteriously  grand  and  imposing;  they 
reveal  immense  expanses  of  the  soul,  to  which  the  spectator's 
fancy  adds  yet  greater  breadth.  Such  souls  share  in  the 
privilege  of  royalty,  whose  affections  cling  to  a  nation,  and 
then  strike  a  whole  world. 

"Why  did  you ?"  began  Calyste,  who  could  not  finish 

the  sentence.  Camille  Maupin's  beautiful,  burning  hand  was 
laid  on  his,  and  eloquently  stopped  him. 


82  BEATRIX 

"Nature  has  forsworn  her  laws  by  granting  me  five  or  six 
years  of  added  youth.  I  have  repelled  you  out  of  selfishness. 
Sooner  or  later  age  would  have  divided  us. — I  am  thirteeen 
years  older  than  he  is,  and  that  is  quite  enough !" 

"You  will  still  be  beautiful  when  you  are  sixty  I"  cried 
Calyste,  heroically. 

"God  grant  it !"  she  replied,  with  a  smile.  "But,  my  dear 
child,  I  intend  to  love  him.  In  spite  of  his  insensibility, 
his  lack  of  imagination,  his  cowardly  indifference,  and  the 
envy  that  consumes  him,  I  believe  that  there  is  greatness 
under  those  husks;  I  hope  to  galvanize  his  heart,  to  save 
him  from  himself,  to  attach  him  to  me.  .  .  .  Alas !  I 
have  the  brain  to  see  clearly  while  my  heart  is  blind." 

She  was  appallingly  clear  to  herself.  She  could  suffer 
and  analyze  her  suffering,  as  Cuvier  and  Dupuytren  could 
explain  to  their  friends  the  fatal  progress  of  their  diseases 
and  the  steady  advance  of  death.  Camille  Maupin  knew 
passion  as  these  two  learned  men  knew  anatomy. 

"I  came  here  on  purpose  to  form  an  opinion  about  him; 
he  is  already  bored.  He  misses  Paris,  as  I  told  him;  he 
is  homesick  for  something  to  criticise.  Here  there  is  no  au- 
thor to  be  plucked,  no  system  to  be  undermined,  no  poet  to 
be  driven  to  despair;  he  dares  not  here  rush  into  some  ex- 
cess in  which  he  could  unburden  himself  of  the  weight  of 
thought.  Alas !  my  love,  perhaps,  is  not  true  enough  to 
refresh  his  brain.  In  short,  I  cannot  intoxicate  him ! — To- 
night you  and  he  must  get  drunk  together;  I  shall  say  I 
am  ailing,  and  stay  in  my  room;  I  shall  know  if  I  am  mis- 
taken." 

Calyste  turned  as  red  as  a  cherry,  red  from  his  chin  to  his 
hair,  and  his  ears  tingled  with  the  glow. 

"Good  God !"  she  exclaimed,  "and  here  am  I  depraving 
your  maiden  innocence  without  thinking  of  what  I  was  do- 
ing! Forgive  me,  Calyste.  When  you  love  you  will  know 
that  you  would  try  to  set  the  Seine  on  fire  to  give  the  least 
pleasure  to  'the  object  of  your  affections,'  as  the  fortune- 
tellers say." 


BEATRIX  83 

She  paused. 

"There  are  some  proud  and  logical  spirits/'  she  went  on, 
"who  at  a  certain  age  can  exclaim,  'If  I  could  live  my  life 
again,  I  would  do  everything  the  same.'  Now  I — and  I  do 
not  think  myself  weak — I  say,  'I  would  be  such  a  woman 
as  your  mother/ 

"To  have  a  Calyste  of  my  own!  What  happiness!  If  I 
had  had  the  greatest  fool  on  earth  for  a  husband,  I  should 
have  been  a  humble  and  submissive  wife.  And  yet  I  have 
not  sinned  against  society ;  I  have  only  hurt  myself.  Alas ! 
dear  child,  a  woman  can  no  longer  go  into  society  unpro- 
tected excepting  in  what  is  called  a  primitive  state.  The 
affections  that  are  not  in  harmony  with  social  or  natural 
laws,  the  affections  which  are  not  binding,  in  short,  evade 
us.  If  I  am  to  suffer  for  suffering's  sake,  I  might  as  well 
be  useful.  What  do  I  care  for  the  children  of  my  Faucombe 
cousins,  who  are  no  longer  Faucombes,  whom  I  have  not 
seen  for  twenty  years,  and  who  married  merchants  only! 
You  are  a  son  who  has  cost  me  none  of  the  cares  of  mother- 
hood; I  shall  leave  you  my  fortune,  and  you  will  be  happy, 
at  any  rate,  so  far  as  that  is  concerned,  by  my  act,  dear 
jewel  of  beauty  and  sweetness,  which  nothing  should  ever 
change  or  fade !" 

As  she  spoke  these  words  in  a  deep  voice,  her  eyelids  fell, 
that  he  should  not  read  her  eyes. 

"You  have  never  chosen  to  accept  anything  from  me,"  said 
Calyste.  "I  shall  restore  your  fortune  to  your  heirs." 

"Child !"  said  Camille,  in  her  rich  tones,  while  the  tears 
fell  down  her  cheeks,  "can  nothing  save  me  from  myself?" 

"You  have  a  story  to  tell  me,  and  a  letter  to "  the 

generous  boy  began,  to  divert  her  from  her  distress.  But  she 
interrupted  him  before  he  could  finish  his  sentence. 

"You  are  right.  I  must,  above  all  things,  keep  my  word. 
It  was  too  late  yesterday;  but  we  shall  have  time  enough 
to-day,  it  would  seem,"  she  said,  in  a  half-playful,  half-bitter 
tone.  "To  fulfil  my  promise,  I  will  sit  where  I  can  look 
down  the  road  to  the  cliffs." 


84  BEATRIX 

Calyste  placed  a  deep  Gothic  armchair  where  she  could 
look  out  in  that  direction,  and  opened  the  window.  Camille 
Maupin,  who  shared  the  Oriental  tastes  of  the  more  illus- 
trious writer  of  her  own  sex,  took  out  a  magnificent  Persian 
narghileh  that  an  ambassador  had  given  her;  she  filled  it 
with  patchouli  leaves,  cleaned  the  mouthpiece,  scented  the 
quill  before  she  inserted  it — it  would  serve  her  but  once — 
put  a  match  to  the  dried  leaves,  placed  the  handsome  instru- 
ment of  pleasure,  with  its  long-necked  bowl  of  blue-and-gold 
enamel,  at  no  great  distance,  and  then  rang  for  tea. 

"If  you  would  like  a  cigarette? — Ah!  I  always  forget 
that  you  do  not  smoke.  Such  immaculateness  as  yours  is 
rare !  I  feel  as  though  only  the  fingers  of  an  Eve  fresh 
from  the  hand  of  God  ought  to  caress  the  downy  satin  of 
your  cheeks." 

Calyste  reddened  and  sat  down  on  a  stool;  he  did  not  ob- 
serve the  deep  emotion  that  made  Camille  blush. 

"The  person  from  whom  I  yesterday  received  this  letter, 
and  who  will  perhaps  be  here  to-morrow,  is  the  Marquise  de 
Rochefide,"  said  Felicite.  "After  getting  his  eldest  daughter 
married  to  a  Portuguese  grandee  who  has  settled  in  France, 
old  Rochefide,  whose  family  is  not  as  old  as  yours,  wanted 
to  connect  his  son  with  the  highest  nobility,  so  as  to  pro- 
cure for  him  a  peerage  he  had  failed  to  obtain  for  himself. 
The  Comtesse  de  Montcornet  told  him  that  in  the  department 
of  the  Orne  there  was  a  certain  Mademoiselle  Beatrix  Maxi- 
milienne,  Rose  de  Casteran,  the  youngest  daughter  of  the 
Marquis  de  Casteran,  who  wanted  to  get  his  two  daughters 
off  his  hands  without  any  money,  so  as  to  leave  his  whole 
fortune  to  his  son,  the  Comte  de  Casteran.  The  Casterans, 
it  would  seem,  are  descended  direct  from  Adam. 

"Beatrix,  born  and  brought  up  in  the  chateau  of  Casteran, 
at  the  time  of  her  marriage  in  1828,  was  twenty  years 
of  age.  She  was  remarkable  for  what  you  provincials  call 
eccentricity,  which  is  simply  a  superior  mind,  enthusiasm, 
a  sense  of  the  beautiful,  and  a  fervid  feeling  for  the  works  of 
art.  Take  the  word  of  a  poor  woman  who  has  trusted  her- 


BEATRIX  85 

self  on  these  slopes,  there  is  nothing  more  perilous  for  a 
woman;  if  she  tries  them,  she  arrives  where  you  see  me,  and 
where  the  Marquise  is — in  an  abyss.  Men  only  have  the 
staff  that  can  be  a  support  on  the  edge  of  those  precipices, 
a  strength  which  we  lack,  or  which  makes  us  monsters  if 
we  have  it. 

"Her  old  grandmother,  the  dowager  Marquise  de  Casteran, 
was  delighted  to  see  her  marry  a  man  whose  superior  she 
would  certainly  be  in  birth  and  mind.  The  Eochefides  did 
everything  extremely  well,  Beatrix  could  but  be  satisfied ;  and 
in  the  same  way  Eochefide  h'ad  every  reason  to  be  pleased  with 
the  Casterans,  who,  as  connected  with  the  Verneuils,  the 
d'Esgrignons,  and  the  Troisvilles,  obtained  the  peerage  for 
their  son-in-law  as  one  of  the  last  batch  made  by  Charles  X., 
though  it  was  annulled  by  a  decree  of  the  Eevolution  of  July. 

"Eochefide  is  a  fool,  however;  he  began  by  having  a  son; 
and  as  he  gave  his  wife  no  respite,  and  almost  killed  her 
with  his  company,  she  soon  had  enough  of  him.  The  early 
days  of  married  life  are  a  rock  of  danger  for  small  minds 
as  for  great  passions.  Eochefide,  being  a  fool,  mistook  his 
wife's  ignorance  for  coldness ;  he  regarded  Beatrix  as  a  lym- 
phatic creature — she  is  very  fair — and  thereupon  lulled  him- 
self in  perfect  security,  and  led  a  bachelor  life,  trusting  to 
the  Marquise's  supposed  coldness,  her  pride,  her  haughtiness, 
and  the  splendor  of  a  style  of.  living  which  surrounds  a 
woman  in  Paris  with  a  thousand  barriers.  When  you  go 
there  you  will  understand  what  I  mean.  Those  who  hoped 
to  take  advantage  of  his  easy  indifference  would  say  to  him, 
'You  are  a  lucky  fellow.  You  have  a  heartless  wife,  whose 
passions  will  be  in  her  brain;  she  is  content  with  shin- 
ing ;  her  fancies  are  purely  artistic ;  her  jealousy  and  wishes 
will  be  amply  satisfied  if  she  can  form  a  salon  where  all 
the  wits  and  talents  meet ;  she  will  have  debauches  of  music, 
orgies  of  literature.'— And  the  husband  took  in  all  this  non- 
sense with  which  simpletons  are  stuffed  in  Paris. 

"At  the  same  time,  Eochefide  is  not  a  common  idiot;  he 
has  as  much  vanity  and  pride  as  a  clever  man,  with  this 


86  BEATRIX 

difference,  that  clever  men  assume  some  modesty  and  become 
cats;  they  coax  to  be  coaxed  in  return;  whereas,  Eochefide 
has  a  fine  flourishing  conceit,  rosy  and  plump,  that  admires 
itself  in  public,  and  is  always  smiling.  His  vanity  rolls  in 
the  stable,  and  feeds  noisily  from  the  manger,  tugging  out 
the  hay.  He  has  faults  such  as  are  known  only  to  those 
who  are  in  a  position  to  judge  him  intimately,  which  are 
noticeable  only  in  the  shade  and  mystery  of  private  life,  while 
in  society  and  to  society  the  man  seems  charming.  Eoche- 
fide must  have  been  intolerable  the  moment  he  fancied  that 
his  hearth  and  home  were  threatened;  for  his  is  that  cun- 
ning and  squalid  jealousy  that  is  brutal  when  it  is  roused, 
cowardly  for  six  months,  and  murderous  the  seventh.  He 
thought  he  deceived  his  wife,  and  he  feared  her — two  reasons 
for  tyranny  if  the  day  should  come  when  he  discerned  that 
his  wife  was  so  merciful  as  to  affect  indifference  to  his  infi- 
delities. 

"I  have  analyzed  his  character  to  explain  Beatrix's  conduct. 
The  Marquise  used  to  admire  me  greatly;  but  there  is  but 
one  step  from  admiration  to  jealousy.  I  have  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  salons  of  Paris;  she  wished  to  have  one, 
and  tried  to  win  away  my  circle.  I  have  not  the  art  of 
keeping  those  who  wish  to  leave  me.  She  has  won  such 
superficial  persons  as  are  everybody's  friends  from  vacuity, 
and  whose  object  is  always  to  go  out  of  a  room  as  soon  as 
they  have  come  in;  but  she  has  not  had  time  to  make  a 
circle.  At  that  time  I  supposed  that  she  was  consumed  with 
the  desire  of  any  kind  of  celebrity.  Nevertheless,  she  had 
some  greatness  of  soul,  a  royal  pride,  ideas,  and  a  wonderful 
gift  of  apprehending  and  understanding  everything.  She 
will  talk  of  metaphysics  and  of  music,  of  theology  and  of 
painting.  You  will  see  her  as  a  woman  what  we  saw  her 
as  a  bride;  but  she  is  not  without  a  little  conceit;  she 
gives  herself  too  much  the  air  of  knowing  difficult  things — 
Chinese  or  Hebrew,  of  having  ideas  about  hieroglyphics,  and 
of  being  able  to  explain  the  papyrus  that  wraps  a  mummy. 

"Beatrix  is  one  of  those  fair  women  by  whom  fair  Eve 


BEATRIX  87 

would  look  like  a  negress.  She  is  as  tall  and  straight  as  a 
taper,  and  as  white  as  the  holy  wafer ;  she  has  a  long,  pointed 
face,  and  a  very  variable  complexion,  to-day  as  colorless  as 
cambric,  to-morrow  dull  and  mottled  under  the  skin  with 
a  myriad  tiny  specks,  as  though  the  blood  had  left  dust  there 
in  the  course  of  the  night.  Her  forehead  is  grand,  but  a 
little  too  bold;  her  eyes,  pale  aquamarine-tinted,  floating  in 
the  white  cornea  under  colorless  eyebrows  and  indolent  lids. 
There  is  often  a  dark  circle  round  her  eyes.  Her  nose, 
curved  to  a  quarter  of  a  circle,  is  pinched  at  the  nostrils  and 
full  of  refinement,  but  it  is  impertinent.  She  has  the 
Austrian  mouth,  the  upper  lip  thicker  than  the  lower,  which 
has  a  scornful  droop.  Her  pale  cheeks  only  flush  under 
some  very  strong  emotion.  Her  chin  is  rather  fat ;  mine  is 
not  thin;  and  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  tell  you  that  women 
with  a  fat  chin  are  exacting  in  love  affairs.  She  has  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  figures  I  ever  saw;  a  back  of  dazzling 
whiteness,  which  used  to  be  very  flat,  but  which  now,  I 
am  told,  has  filled  out  and  grown  dimpled;  but  the  bust  is 
not  so  fine  as  the  shoulders,  her  arms  are  still  thin.  How- 
ever, she  has  a  mien  and  a  freedom  of  manner  which  redeem 
all  her  defects  and  throw  her  beauties  into  relief.  Nature 
has  bestowed  on  her  that  air,  as  of  a  princess,  which  can 
never  be  acquired,  which  becomes  her,  and  at  once  reveals 
the  woman  of  birth;  it  is  in  harmony  with  the  slender  hips 
of  exquisite  form,  with  the  prettiest  foot  in  the  world,  and  the 
abundant  angel-like  hair,  resembling  waves  of  light,  such  as 
Girodet's  brush  has  so  often  painted. 

"Without  being  faultlessly  beautiful  or  pretty,  when  she 
chooses,  she  can  make  an  indelible  impression.  She  has  only 
to  dress  in  cherry-colored  velvet,  with  lace  frillings,  and  red 
roses  in  her  hair,  to  be  divine.  If  on  any  pretext  Beatrix 
could  dress  in  the  costume  of  a  time  when  women  wore  pointed 
stomachers  laced  with  ribbon,  rising,  slender  and  fragile- 
looking,  from  the  padded  fulness  of  brocade  skirts  set  in 
thick,  deep  pleats ;  when  their  heads  were  framed  in  starched 
ruffs,  and  their  arms  hidden  under  slashed  sleeves  with  lace 


88  BEATRIX 

ruffles,  out  of  which  the  hand  appeared  like  the  pistil  from 
the  cup  of  a  flower;  when  their  hair  was  tossed  back  in  a 
thousand  little  curls  over  a  knot  held  up  by  a  network  of 
jewels,  Beatrix  would  appear  as  a  successful  rival  to  any  of 
the  ideal  beauties  you  may  see  in  that  array." 

Felicite  showed  Calyste  a  good  copy  of  Mieris'  picture,  in 
which  a  lady  in  white  satin  stands  singing  with  a  gentleman 
of  Brabant,  while  a  negro  pours  old  Spanish  wine  into  a 
glass  with  a  foot,  and  a  housekeeper  is  arranging  some' 
biscuits. 

"Fair  women,"  she  went  on,  "have  the  advantage  over  us 
dark  women  of  the  most  delightful  variety;  you  may  be 
fair  in  a  hundred  ways,  but  there  is  only  one  way  of  being 
dark.  Fair  women  are  more  womanly  than  we  are ;  we  dark 
Frenchwomen  are  too  like  men.  Well/'  she  added,  "do  not 
be  falling  in  love  with  Beatrix  on  the  strength  of  the  por- 
trait I  have  given  you,  exactly  like  some  prince  in  the  Arabian 
Nights.  Too  late  in  the  day,  my  dear  boy !  But  be  com- 
forted. With  her  the  bones  are  for  the  first  comer." 

She  spoke  with  meaning;  the  admiration  expressed  in  the 
youth's  face  was  evidently  more  for  the  picture  than  for  the 
painter  whose  touch  had  missed  its  purpose. 

"In  spite  of  her  being  a  blonde,"  she  resumed,  "Beatrix 
has  not  the  delicacy  of  her  coloring ;  the  lines  are  severe,  she 
is  elegant  and  hard;  she  has  the  look  of  a  strictly  accurate 
drawing,  and  you  might  fancy  she  had  southern  fires  in  her 
soul.  She  is  a  flaming  angel,  slowly  drying  up.  Her  eyes 
look  thirsty.  Her  front  face  is  the  best ;  in  profile  her  face 
looks  as  if  it  had  been  flattened  between  two  doors.  You 
will  see  if  I  am  wrong. 

"This  is  what  led  to  our  being  such  intimate  friends :  For 
three  years,  from  1828  to  1831,  Beatrix,  while  enjoying  the 
last  gaieties  of  the  Eestoration,  wandering  through  drawing- 
rooms,  going  to  court,  gracing  the  fancy-dress  balls  at  the 
Elysee  Bourbon,  was  judging  men,  things,  and  events 
from  the  heights  of  her  intellect.  Her  mind  was  fully  oc- 
cupied. This  first  bewilderment  at  seeing  the  world  kept  her 


BEATRIX  80 

heart  dormant,  and  it  remained  torpid  under  the  first  start- 
ling experiences  of  marriage — a  baby — a  confinement,  and 
all  the  business  of  motherhood,  which  I  cannot  bear;  I  am 
not  a  woman  so  far  as  that  is  concerned.  To  me  children 
are  unendurable;  they  bring  a  thousand  sorrows  and  in- 
cessant anxieties.  I  must  say  that  I  regard  it  as  one  of  the 
blessings  of  modern  society  of  which  that  hypocrite,  Jean- 
Jacques,  deprived  us,  that  we  were  free  to  be  or  not  to  be 
mothers.  Though  I  am  not  the  only  woman  that  thinks  this, 
I  am  the  only  one  to  say  it. 

"During  the  storm  of  1830  and  1831,  Beatrix  went  to  her 
husband's  country  house,  where  she  was  as  much  bored  as 
a  saint  in  his  stall  in  Paradise.  On  her  return  to  Paris,  the 
Marquise  thought,  and  perhaps  rightly,  that  the  Revolution, 
which  in  the  eyes  of  most  people  was  purely  political,  would 
be  a  moral  revolution,  too.  The  world  to  which  she  belonged 
had  failed  to  reconstitute  itself  during  the  unlooked-for 
fifteen  years  of  triumph  under  the  Eestoration,  so  it  must 
crumble  away  under  the  steady  battering  ram  of  the  middle 
class.  She  had  understood  Monsieur  Laine's  great  words, 
'Kings  are  departing/  This  opinion,  I  suspect,  was  not 
without  its  influence  on  her  conduct. 

"She  sympathized  intellectually  with  the  new  doctrines 
which,  for  three  years  after  that  July,  swarmed  into  life  like 
flies  in  the  sunshine,  and  which  turned  many  women's  heads ; 
but,  like  all  the  nobility,  though  she  thought  the  new  ideas 
magnificent,  she  wished  to  save  the  nobility.  Finding  no 
opening  now  for  personal  superiority,  seeing  the  uppermost 
class  again  setting  up  the  speechless  opposition  it  had  already 
shown  to  Napoleon — which,  during  the  dominion  of  actions 
and  facts,  was  the  only  attitude  it  could  take,  whereas,  in  a 
time  of  moral  transition,  it  was  equivalent  to  retiring  from 
the  contest — she  preferred  a  happy  life  to  this  mute  antag- 
onism. 

"When  we  began  to  breathe  a  little,  the  Marquise  met  at 
my  house  the  man  with  whom  I  had  thought  to  end  my 
days — Gennaro  Conti,  the  great  composer,  of  Neapolitan 


90  BEATRIX 

parentage,  but  born  at  Marseilles.  Conti  is  a  very  clever 
fellow,  and  has  gifts  as  a  composer,  though  he  can  never 
rise  to  the  highest  rank.  If  we  had  not  Meyerbeer  and 
Eossini,  he  might  perhaps  have  passed  for  a  genius.  He  has 
this  advantage  over  them,  that  he  is  as  a  singer  what  Paganini 
is  on  the  violin,  Liszt  on  the  piano,  Taglioni  as  a  dancer — in 
short,  what  the  famous  Garat  was,  of  whom  he  reminds  those 
who  ever  heard  that  singer.  It  is  not  a  voice,  my  dear  boy, 
it  is  a  soul.  When  that  singing  answers  to  certain  ideas, 
certain  indescribable  moods  in  which  a  woman  sometimes 
finds  herself,  if  she  hears  Gennaro,  she  is  lost. — The  Mar- 
quise fell  madly  in  love  with  him  and  won  him  from  me.  It 
was  excessively  provincial,  but  fair  warfare.  She  gained 
my  esteem  and  friendship  by  her  conduct  towards  me.  She 
fancied  I  was  the  woman  to  fight  for  my  possession;  she 
could  not  tell  that  in  my  eyes  the  most  ridiculous  thing  in 
the  world  under  such  circumstances  is  the  subject  of  the 
contest.  She  came  to  see  me.  The  woman,  proud  as  she 
isr  was  so  much  in  love  that  she  betrayed  her  secret  and  left 
me  mistress  of  her  fate.  She  was  quite  charming;  in  my 
eyes  she  remained  a  woman  and  a  marquise. 

"I  may  tell  you,  my  friend,  that  women  are  sometimes  bad ; 
but  they  have  a  secret  greatness  which  men  will  never  be 
able  to  appreciate.  And  so,  as  I  may  wind  up  my  affairs 
as  a  woman  on  the  brink  of  old  age,  which  is  awaiting  me, 
I  will  tell  you  that  I  had  been  faithful  to  Conti,  that  I 
should  have  continued  faithful  till  death,  and  that,  never- 
theless, I  knew  him  thoroughly.  He  has  apparently  a  de- 
lightful nature;  at  bottom  he  is  detestable.  In  matters  of 
feeling  he  is  a  charlatan. 

"There  are  men,  like  Nathan,  of  whom  I  have  spoken  to 
you,  who  are  charlatans  on  the  surface,  but  honest.  Such 
men  lie  to  themselves.  Perched  on  stilts,  they  fancy  that 
they  are  on  their  feet,  and  play  their  tricks  with  a  sort  of 
innocence;  their  vanity  is  in  their  blood;  they  are  born 
actors,  swaggerers,  grotesquely  funny,  like  a  Chinese  jar; 
they  might  even  laugh  at  themselves.  Their  personal  im- 


BEATRIX  91 


pulses  are  generous,  and,  like  the  gaudiness  of  Murat's  royal 
costume,  they  attract  danger. 

"But  Conti's  rascality  will  never  be  known  to  any  one  but 
his  mistress.  He  has  as  an  artist  that  famous  Italian  jeal- 
ousy which  led  Carlone  to  assassinate  Piola,  and  cost  Paesiello 
a  stiletto  thrust.  This  terrible  envy  is  hidden  beneath  the 
most  charming  good-fellowship.  Conti  has  not  the  courage 
of  his  vice ;  he  smiles  at  Meyerbeer  and  pays  him  compliments^ 
while  he  longs  to  rend  him.  He  feels  himself  weak,  and 
gives  himself  the  airs  of  force;  and  his  vanity  is  such  that 
he  afEects  the  sentiments  furthest  from  his  heart.  He  as- 
sumes to  be  an  artist  inspired  direct  from  Heaven.  To  him 
Art  is  something  sacred  and  holy.  He  is  a  fanatic;  he  is 
sublime  in  his  fooling  of  fashionable  folk;  his  eloquence 
seems  to  flow  from  the  deepest  convictions.  He  is  a  seer,  a 
demon,  a  god,  an  angel.  In  short,  though  I  have  warned  you, 
Calyste,  you  will  be  his  dupe.  This  southerner,  this  seeth- 
ing artist,  is  as  cold  as  a  well-rope. 

"You  listen  to  him;  the  artist  is  a  missionary,  Art  is  a 
religion  that  has  its  priesthood  and  must  have  its  martyrs. 
Once  started,  Gennaro  mounts  to  the  most  disheveled  pathos 
that  ever  a  German  philosopher  spouted  out  on  his  audience. 
You  admire  his  convictions — he  believes  in  nothing.  He 
carries  you  up  to  Heaven  by  a  song  that  seems  to  be 
some  mysterious  fluid,  flowing  with  love;  he  gives  you  a 
glance  of  ecstasy;  but  he  keeps  an  eye  on  your  admiration; 
he  is  asking  himself,  'Am  I  really  a  god  to  these  people?' 
And  in  the  same  instant  he  is  perhaps  saying  to  himself,  'I 
have  eaten  too  much  macaroni/  You  fancy  he  loves  you — 
he  hates  you;  and  you  do  not  know  why.  But  I  always 
knew.  He  had  seen  some  woman  the  day  before,  loved  her 
for  a  whim,  insulted  me  with  false  love,  with  hypocritical 
kisses,  making  me  pay  dearly  for  his  feigned  fidelity.  In 
short,  he  is  insatiable  for  applause;  he  shams  everything, 
and  trifles  with  everything;  he  can  act  joy  as  well  as  grief, 
and  he  succeeds  to  perfection.  He  can  please,  he  is  loved, 
he  can  get  admiration  whenever  he  chooses. 


92  BEATRIX 

"I  left  him  hating  his  voice;  he  owed  it  more  success  than 
he  could  get  from  his  talent  as  a  composer;  and  he  would 
rather  be  a  man  of  genius  like  Eossini  than  a  performer 
as  fine  as  Eubini.  I  had  been  so  foolish  as  to  attach  my- 
self to  him,  and  I  would  have  decked  the  idol  till  the  last. 
Conti,  like  many  artists,  is  very  dainty,  and  likes  his  ease 
and  his  little  enjoyments;  he  is  dandified,  elegant,  well 
dressed;  well,  I  humored  all  his  manias;  I  loved  that  weak 
but  astute  character.  I  was  envied,  and  I  sometimes  smiled 
with  disdain.  I  respected  his  courage;  he  is  brave,  and 
bravery,  it  is  said,  is  the  only  virtue  which  no  hypocrisy  can 
simulate.  On  one  occasion,  when  traveling,  I  saw  him  put 
to  the  test;  he  was  ready  to  risk  his  life — and  he  loves  it; 
but,  strange  to  say,  in  Paris  I  have  known  him  guilty  of 
what  I  call  mental  cowardice. 

"My  dear  boy,  I  knew  all  this.  I  said  to  the  poor  Mar- 
quise, 'You  do  not  know  what  a  gulf  you  are  setting  foot 
in;  you  are  the  Perseus  of  a  hapless  Andromeda;  you  are 
rescuing  me  from  the  rock.  If  he  loves  you,  so  much  the 
better;  but  I  doubt  it;  he  loves  no  one  but  himself.' 

"Gennaro  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  pride.  I  was  no 
marquise;  I  was  not  born  a  Casteran;  I  was  forgotten  in 
a  day.  I  allowed  myself  the  fierce  pleasure  of  studying  this 
character  to  its  depths.  Certain  of  what  the  end  would  be, 
I  meant  to  watch  Conti's  contortions.  My  poor  boy,  in  one 
week  I  saw  horrors  of  sentimentality,  hideous  manoeuvring! 
I  will  tell  you  no  more;  you  will  see  the  man  here.  Only, 
as  he  knows  that  I  know  him,  he  hates  me  now.  If  he  could 
safely  stab  me,  I  should  not  be  alive  for  two  seconds. 

"I  have  never  said  a  word  of  this  to  Beatrix.  Gennaro's 
last  and  constant  insult  is  that  he  believes  me  capable  of 
communicating  my  painful  knowledge  to  the  Marquise.  He 
has  become  restless  and  absent-minded,  for  he  cannot  believe 
in  good  feeling  in  any  one.  He  still  performs  for  my  benefit 
the  part  of  a  man  grieved  to  have  deserted  me.  You  will 
find  him  full  of  the  most  penetrating  cordiality;  he  will 
wheedle,  he  will  be  chivalrous.  To  him  every  woman  is  a 


BEATRIX  93 

Madonna !  You  have  to  live  with  him  for  some  time  before 
you  detect  the  secret  of  that  false  frankness,  or  know  the 
stiletto  prick  of  his  humbug.  His  air  of  conviction  would 
take  in  God.  And  so  you  will  be  enmeshed  by  his  feline 
blandishments,  and  will  never  conceive  of  the  deep  and  rapid 
arithmetic  of  his  inmost  mind. — Let  him  be. 

"I  carried  indifference  to  the  point  of  receiving  them  to- 
gether at  my  house.  The  consequence  of  this  was  that  the 
most  suspicious  world  on  earth,  the  world  of  Paris,  knew 
nothing  of  the  intrigue.  Thpugh  Gennaro  was  drunk  with 
pride,  he  wanted,  no  doubt,  to  pose  before  Beatrix;  his  dis- 
simulation was  consummate.  He  surprised  me;  I  had  ex- 
pected to  find  that  he  insisted  on  a  stage-effect.  It  was  she 
who  compromised  herself,  after  a  year  of  happiness,  under  all 
the  vicissitudes  and  risks  of  Parisian  existence. 

"She  had  not  seen  Gennaro  for  some  days,  and  I  had  in- 
vited him  to  dine  with  me,  as  she  was  coming  in  the  evening. 
Eochefide  had  no  suspicions;  but  Beatrix  knew  her  husband 
so  well,  that,  as  she  often  told  me,  she  would  have  preferred 
the  worst  poverty  to  the  wretched  life  that  awaited  her  in 
the  event  of  that  man  ever  having  a  right  to  scorn  or  to 
torment  her.  I  had  chosen  the  evening  when  our  friend,  the 
Comtesse  de  Montcornet,  was  at  home.  After  seeing  her  hus- 
band served  with  his  coffee,  Beatrix  left  the  drawing-room 
to  dress,  though  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of  getting  ready 
so  early. 

"  'Your  hairdresser  is  not  here  yet/  said  Rochefide,  when 
he  heard  why  she  was  going. 

"  Therese  can  do  my  hair/  she  replied. 

"  "Why,  where  are  you  going  ?  You  cannot  go  to  Madame 
de  Montcornet's  at  eight  o'clock/ 

"  'No,'  said  she,  *but  I  shall  hear  the  first  act  at  the  Italian 
Opera.' 

"The  catechizing  bailiff  in  Voltaire's  Huron  is  a  silent  man 
by  comparison  with  an  idle  husband.  Beatrix  fled,  to  be  no 
further  questioned,  and  did  not  hear  her  husband  say,  'Very 
well;  we  will  go  together.' 


94  BEATRIX 

"He  did  not  do  it  on  purpose ;  he  had  no  reason  to  suspect 
his  wife ;  she  was  allowed  so  much  liberty !  He  tried  never 
to  fetter  her  in  any  way;  he  prided  himself  on  it.  And, 
indeed,  her  conduct  did  not  offer  the  smallest  hold  for  the 
strictest  critic.  The  Marquis  was  going  who  knows  where — 
to  see  his  mistress,  perhaps.  He  had  dressed  before  dinner; 
he  had  only  to  take  up  his  hat  and  gloves  when  he  heard 
his  wife's  carriage  draw  up  under  the  awning  of  the  steps 
in  the  courtyard.  He  went  to  her  room  and  found  her  ready, 
but  amazed  at  seeing  him. 

"  'Where  are  you  going  ?'  said  she. 

"'Did  I  not  tell  you  I  would  go  with  you  to  the  Opera?' 

"The  Marquise  controlled  the  outward  expression  of  in- 
tense annoyance ;  but  her  cheeks  turned  as  scarlet  as  though 
she  had  used  rouge. 

"  'Well,  come  then,'  she  replied. 

"Kochefide  followed  her,  without  heeding  the  agitation  be- 
trayed by  her  voice;  she  was  burning  with  the  most  violent 
suppressed  rage. 

"  'To  the  Opera,'  said  her  husband. 

"  'No,'  cried  Beatrix,  'to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'.  I 
have  a  word  to  say  to  her,'  she  added,  when  the  door  was  shut. 

"The  carriage  started. 

"  'But  if  you  like,'  Beatrix  added,  1  can  take  you  first  to 
the  Opera  and  go  to  her  afterwards.' 

"  'No,'  said  the  Marquis ;  'if  you  have  only  a  few  words 
to  say  to  her,  I  will  wait  in  the  carriage;  it  is  only  half-past 
seven.' 

"If  Beatrix  had  said  to  her  husband,  'Go  to  the  Opera  and 
leave  me  alone,'  he  would  have  obeyed  her  quite  calmly. 
Like  every  clever  woman,  knowing  herself  guilty,  she  was 
afraid  of  rousing  his  suspicions,  and  resigned  herself.  Thus, 
when  she  gave  up  the  Opera  to  come  to  my  house,  her  husband 
accompanied  her.  She  came  in  scarlet  with  rage  and  im- 
patience. She  walked  straight  up  to  me,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  with  the  calmest  manner  in  the  world : 

"  'My  dear  Felicite,  I  shall  start  for  Italy  to-morrow  even- 


BEATRIX  95 

ing  with  Conti;  beg  him  to  make  his  arrangements,  and 
wait  for  me  here  with  a  carriage  and  passport/ 

"Then  she  left  with  her  husband. — Violent  passions  insist 
on  liberty  at  any  cost.  Beatrix  had  for  a  year  been  suffering 
from  want  of  freedom  and  the  rarity  of  their  meetings,  for 
she  considered  herself  one  with  Gennaro.  So  nothing  could 
surprise  me.  In  her  place,  with  my  temper,  I  should  have 
acted  as  she  did.  Conti's  happiness  broke  my  heart;  only 
his  vanity  was  engaged  in  this  matter. 

"  'That  is,  indeed,  being  loved !'  he  exclaimed,  in  the  midst 
of  his  transports.  'How  few  women  would  thus  forego  their 
whole  life,  their  fortune,  their  reputation !' 

"  'Oh,  yes,  she  loves  you/  said  I ;  'but  you  do  not  love  her !' 

"He  flew  into  a  fury  and  made  a  scene ;  he  harangued,  he 
scolded,  he  described  his  passion,  saying  he  had  never  thought 
it  possible  that  he  could  love  so  much.  I  was  immovably 
cool,  and  lent  him  the  money  he  might  want  for  the  journey 
that  had  taken  him  by  surprise. 

"Beatrix  wrote  a  letter  to  her  husband,  and  set  out  for 
Italy  the  next  evening.  She  stayed  there  two  years;  she 
wrote  to  me  several  times.  Her  letters  are  bewitchingly 
friendly ;  the  poor  child  clings  to  me  as  the  only  woman  that 
understands  her.  She  tells  me  she  adores  me.  Want  of 
money  compelled  Gennaro  to  write  an  opera ;  he  did  not  find 
in  Italy  the  pecuniary  resources  open  to  a  composer  in 
Paris. — Here  is  her  last  letter;  you  can  understand  it  now 
if,  at  your  age,  you  can  analyze  the  emotions  of  the  heart," 
she  added,  handing  him  the  letter. 

At  this  moment  (Jlaude  Vignon  came  in.  At  the  unex- 
pected sight,  Calyste  and  Felicite  sat  silent  for  a  minute,  she 
from  surprise,  he  from  vague  dissatisfaction.  Claude's  vast, 
high,  and  wide  forehead,  bald  at  seven-and-thirty,  was  dark 
with  clouds.  His  firm,  judicious  lips  expressed  cold  irony. 
Claude  Vignon  is  an  imposing  person,  in  spite  of  the  changes 
in  a  face  that  was  splendid  and  is  now  grown  livid.  From 
the  age  of  eighteen  to  five-and-twenty  he  had  a  strong  like- 


96  BEATRIX 

ness  to  the  divine  young  Kaphael;  but  his  nose,  the  human 
feature  which  most  readily  alters,  has  grown  sharp;  his 
countenance  has,  as  it  were,  sunk  under  mysterious  hollows, 
the  outlines  have  grown  puffy,  and  with  a  bad  color ;  leaden 
grays  predominate  in  the  worn  complexion,  though  no  one 
knows  what  the  fatigues  can  be  of  a  young  man,  aged,  per- 
haps, by  crushing  loneliness,  and  an  abuse  of  keen  discern- 
ment. He  is  always  examining  other  men's  minds,  without 
object  or  system;  the  pickaxe  of  his  criticism  is  always  de- 
stroying, and  never  constructing  anything.  His  weariness 
is  that  of  the  laborer,  not  of  the  architect. 

His  eyes,  light  blue  and  once  bright,  are  dimmed  with  un- 
confessed  suffering,  or  clouded  by  sullen  sadness.  Dissipation 
has  darkened  the  eyelids  beneath  the  brows;  the  temples 
have  lost  their  smoothness.  The  chin,  most  nobly  moulded, 
has  grown  double  without  dignity.  His  voice,  never  very 
sonorous,  has  grown  thin ;  it  is  not  hoarse,  not  husky,  but 
something  between  the  two.  The  inscrutability  of  this  fine 
face,  the  fixity  of  that  gaze,  cover  an  irresolution  and  weak- 
ness that  are  betrayed  in  the  shrewd  and  ironical  smile. 
This  weakness  affects  his  actions,  but  not  his  mind;  the 
stamp  of  encyclopedic  intellect  is  on  that  brow  and  in  the 
habit  of  that  face,  at  once  child-like  and  lofty. 

One  detail  may  help  to  explain  the  eccentricities  of  this 
character.  The  man  is  tall  and  already  somewhat  bent,  like 
all  who  bear  a  world  of  ideas.  /These  tall,  long  frames  have 
never  been  remarkable  for  tenacious  energy,  .for  creative  ac- 
tivity. Charlemagne,  Narses,  Belisarius,  and  Constantine 
have  been,  in  this  particular,  very  noteworthy  exceptions. 
Claude  Vignon,  no  doubt,  suggests  mysteries  to  be  solved. 
In  the  first  place,  he  is  at  once  very  simple  and  very  deep. 
Though  he  rushes  into  excess  with  the  readiness  of  a  courte- 
san, his  mind  remains  unclouded.  The  intellect  which  can 
criticise  art,  science,  literature,  and  politics  is  inadequate  to 
control  his  outer  life.  Claude  contemplates  himself  in  the 
wide  extent  of  his  intellectual  realm,  and  gives  up  the  form 
of  things  with  Diogenes-like  indifference.  Content  with  see- 


BEATRIX  97 

ing  into  everything,  understanding  everything,  he  scorns  ma- 
terial details ;  but,  being  beset  with  hesitancy  as  soon  as  crea- 
tion is  needed,  he  sees  obstacles  without  being  carried  away 
by  beauties,  and  by  dint  of  discussing  means,  he  sits,  his 
hands  hanging  idle,  producing  no  results.  Intellectually 
he  is  a  Turk  in  whom  meditation  induces  sleep.  Criticism 
is  his  opium,  and  his  harem  of  books  has  disgusted  him  with 
any  work  he  might  do. 

Pie  is  equally  indifferent  to  the  smallest  and  to  the  greatest 
things,  and  is  compelled  by  the  mere  weight  of  his  brain  to 
throw  himself  into  debauchery  to  abdicate  for  a  little  while 
the  irresistible  power  of  his  omnipotent  analysis.  He  is 
too  much  absorbed  by  the  seamy  side  of  genius,  and  you  may 
now  conceive  that  Camille  Maupin  should  try  to  show  him  the 
right  side. 

The  task  was  a  fascinating  one.  Claude  Vignon  believed 
himself  no  less  great  as  a  politician  than  he  was  as  a  writer; 
but  this  Machiavelli  of  private  .life  laughs  in  his  sleeve  at 
ambitious  persons,  he  knows  all  he  can  ever  know,  he  in- 
stinctively measures  his  future  life  by  his  faculties,  he  sees 
himself  great,  he  looks  obstacles  in  the  face,  perceives  the 
folly  of  parvenus,  takes  fright,  or  is  disgusted,  and  lets  the 
time  slip  by  without  doing  anything.  Like  Etienne  Lous- 
teau,  the  feuilleton  writer;  like  Nathan,  the  famous  dra- 
matic author;  like  Blondet,  another  journalist,  he  was  born 
in  the  middle  class  to  which  .we  owe  most  of  our  great  writers. 

"Which  way  did  you  come  ?"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
coloring  with  pleasure  or  surprise. 

"In  at  the  door,"  replied  Claude  Vignon,  drily. 

"Well,"  she  replied,  with  a  shrug,  "I  know  you  are  not 
a  man  to  come  in  at  the  window." 

"Scaling  a  balcony  is  a  sort  of  cross  of  honor  for  the  be- 
loved fair." 

"Enough !"  said  Felicite. 

"I  am  in  the  way?"  said  Claude  Vignon. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  guileless  Calyste,  "this  letter " 

"Keep  it;    1  ask  no  questions.     At  our  age  such  things 


98  BEATRIX 

need  no  words/'  said  he,  in  a  satirical  tone,  interrupting 
Calyste. 

"But,  indeed,  monsieur "  Calyste  began,  indignantly. 

"Be  calm,  young  man ;  my  indulgence  for  feelings  is  bound- 
less." 

"My  dear  Calyste,"  said  Camille,  anxious  to  speak. 

"Dear?"  said  Vignon,  interrupting  her. 

"Claude  is  jesting,"  Camille  went  on,  addressing  Calyste, 
"and  he  is  wrong — with  you  who  know  nothing  of  Paris  and 
its  'chaff/  " 

"I  had  no  idea  that  I  was  funny,"  said  Vignon,  very 
gravely. 

"By  what  road  did  you  come  ?  For  two  hours  I  have  never 
ceased  looking  out  towards  le  Croisic." 

"You  were  not  incessantly  looking,"  replied  Vignon. 

"You  are  intolerable  with  your  banter." 

"Banter !     I  ?" 

Calyste  rose. 

"You  are  not  so  badly  off  here  that  you  need  leave,"  said 
Vignon. 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  the  indignant  youth,  to  whom 
Camille  gave  her  hand,  which  he  kissed  instead  of  merely 
taking  it,  and  left  on  it  a  scalding  tear. 

"I  wish  I  were  that  little  young  man,"  said  the  critic,  seat- 
ing himself,  and  taking  the  end  of  the  hookah.  "How  he 
will  love !" 

"Too  much,  for  then  he  will  not  be  loved,"  said  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches.  "Madame  de  Rochefide  is  coming 
here." 

"Good!"  said  Claude;   "and  with  Conti?" 

"She  will  stay  here  alone,  but  he  is  bringing  her." 

"Have  they  quarreled  ?" 

"No." 

"Play  me  a  sonata  by  Beethoven ;  I  know  nothing  of  the 
music  he  has  written  for  the  piano." 

Claude  filled  the  bowl  of  the  hookah  with  tobacco,  watch- 
ing Camille  more  closely  than  she  knew;  a  hideous  idea 


BEATRIX  99 

possessed  him;  .he  fancied  that  a  straightforward  woman 
believed  she  had  duped  him.     The  situation  was  a  new  one. 

Calyste,  as  he  went  away,  was  thinking  neither  of  Beatrix 
de  Kochefide  nor  her  letter;  he  was  furious  with  Claude  Vi- 
gnon,  full  of  wrath  at  what  he  thought  want  of  delicacy,  and 
of  pity  for  poor  Felicite.  How  could  a  man  be  loved  by 
that  perfect  woman  and  not  worship  her  on  his  knees,  not 
trust  her  on  the  faith  of  a  look  or  a  smile  ?  After  being  the 
privileged  spectator  of  the  suffering  Felicite  had  endured 
while  waiting,  he  felt  an  impulse  to  rend  that  pale,  cold 
spectre.  He  knew  nothing  himself,  as  Felicite  had  told  him, 
of  the  sort  of  deceptive  witticisms  in  which  the  satirists  of 
the  press  excel.  To  him  love  was  a  human  form  of  religion. 

On  seeing  him  cross  the  courtyard,  his  mother  could  not 
restrain  a  joyful  exclamation,  and  old  Mademoiselle  du 
Guenic  whistled  for  Mariotte. 

"Mariotte,  here  is  the  child;   give  us  the  lubine." 

"I  saw  him,  mademoiselle/'  replied  the  cook. 

His  mother,  a  little  distressed  by  the  melancholy  that  sat 
on  Calyste's  brow,  never  suspecting  that  it  was  caused  by 
what  he  thought  Vignon's  bad  treatment  of  Felicite,  took  up 
her  worsted  work.  The  old  aunt  pulled  out  her  knitting. 
The  Baron  gave  up  his  easy-chair  to  his  son,  and  walked  up 
and  down  the  room  as  if  to  unstiffen  his  legs  before  taking 
a  turn  in  the  garden.  No  Flemish  or  Dutch  picture  repre- 
sents an  interior  of  richer  tone,  or  furnished  with  more 
happily  suitable  figures.  The  handsome  youth,  dressed  in 
black  velvet,  the  mother,  still  so  handsome,  and  the  two  old 
folks,  in  the  setting  of  ancient  paneling,  were  the  expression 
of  the  most  domestic  harmony. 

Fanny  longed  to  question  Calyste,  but  he  had  taken 
Beatrix's  letter  out  of  his  pocket — the  letter  which  was,  per- 
haps, to  destroy  all  the  happiness  this  noble  family  enjoyed. 
As  he  unfolded  it,  Calyste's  lively  imagination  called  up  the 
Marquise  dressed  as  Camille  Maupin  had  fantastically  de- 
scribed her. 


100  BEATRIX 

From  Beatrix  to  F  elicit  e. 

"GENOA,  July  2nd. 

"I  have  not  written  to  you,  my  dear  friend,  since  our  stay 
at  Florence,  but  Venice  and  Home  took  up  all  my  time;  and 
happiness,  as  you  know,  fills  a  large  place  in  life.  We  are 
neither  of  us  likely  to  take  strict  account  of  a  letter  more  or 
less.  I  am  a  little  tired ;  I  insisted  on  seeing  everything,  and 
to  a  mind  not  easily  satiated  the  repetition  of  pleasures  brings 
fatigue.  Our  friend  had  great  triumphs  at  the  Scala,  at  the 
Fenice,  and  these  last  three  days  at  the  San  Carlo.  Three 
Italian  operas  in  two.  years !  You  cannot  say  that  love  has 
made  him  idle. 

"We  have  been  warmly  welcomed  everywhere,  but  I  should 
have  preferred  silence  and  solitude.  Is  not  that  the  only 
mode  of  life  that  suits  a  woman  in  direct  antagonism  with 
the  world?  This  was  what  I  had  expected.  Love,  my  dear, 
is  a  more  exacting  master  than  marriage;  but  it  is  sweet 
to  serve  him.  After  having  played  at  love  all  my  life,  I  did 
not  know  that  I  must  see  the  world  again,  even  in  glimpses, 
and  the  attentions  paid  me  on  all  hands  were  so  many  wounds. 
I  was  no  longer  on  an  equal  footing  with  women  of  the 
highest  type.  The  more  kindly  I  was  treated,  the  more  was 
my  inferiority  marked.  Gennaro  did  not  understand  these 
subtleties,  but  he  was  so  happy  that  I  should  have  been  grace- 
less if  I  had  not  sacrificed  such  petty  vanities  to  a  thing  so 
splendid  as  an  artist's  life. 

"We  live  only  by  love,  while  men  live  by  love  and  action — 
otherwise  they  would  not  be  men.  There  are,  however,  im- 
mense disadvantages  to  a  woman  in  the  position  in  which 
I  have  placed  myself;  and  you  have  avoided  them.  You 
have  remained  great  in  the  face  of  the  world  which  had  no 
rights  over  you;  you  have  perfect  liberty,  and  I  have  lost 
mine.  I  am  speaking  only  with  reference  to  concerns  of 
the  heart,  and  not  to  social  matters,  which  I  have  wholly 
sacrificed.  You  might  be  vain  and  wilful,  you  might  have 
all  the  graces  of  a  woman  in  love,  who  can  give  or  refuse 
anything  as  she  chooses;  you  had  preserved  the  privilege 


BEATRIX  101 

of  being  capricious,  even  in  the  interest  of  your  affection  and 
of  the  man  you  might  like.  In  short,  you,  even  now,  have 
still  your  own  sanction;  I  have  not  the  freedom  of  feeling, 
which,  as  I  think,  it  is  always  delightful  to  assert  in  love, 
even  when  the  passion  is  an  eternal  one.  I  have  net  the 
right  to  quarrel  in  jest,  which  we  women  so  highly  and  so 
rightly  prize;  is  it  not  the  line  by  which  we  sound  the 
heart?  I  dare  not  threaten,  I  must  rely  for  attractiveness 
on  infinite  docility  and  sweetness,  I  must  be  impressive 
through  the  immenseness  of  my  love;  I  would  rather  die 
than  give  up  Gennaro,  for  the  holiness  of  my  passion  is  its 
only  plea  for  pardon. 

'•'I  did  not  hesitate  between  my  social  dignity  and  my  own 
little  dignity — a  secret  between  me  and  my  conscience. 
Though  I  have  fits  of  melancholy,  like  the  clouds  which  float 
across  the  clearest  sky,  to  which  we  women  like  to  give  way, 
I  silence  them  at  once;  they  would  look  like  regret.  Dear 
me!  I  so  fully  understood  the  extent  of  my  debt  to  him, 
that  I  have  equipped  myself  with  unlimited  indulgence;  but 
hitherto  Gennaro  has  not  roused  my  sensitive  jealousy.  In- 
deed, I  cannot  see  how  my  dear  great  genius  can  do  wrong. 
I  am,  my  dear,  rather  like  the  devotees  who  argue  with  their 
God,  for  is  it  not  to  you  that  I  owe  my  happiness?  And 
you  cannot  doubt  that  I  have  often  thought  of  you. 

"At  last  I  have  seen  Italy!  As  you  saw  it,  as  it  ought  to 
be  seen,  illuminated  to  the  soul  by  love,  as  it  is  by  its  glori- 
ous sun  and  its  masterpieces  of  art.  I  pity  those  who  are 
incessantly  fired  by  the  admiration  it  calls  for  at.  every  step 
when  they  have  not  a  hand  to  clasp,  a  heart  into  which  they 
may  pour  the  overflow  of  emotions  which  then  subside  as 
they  grow  deeper.  These  two  years  are  to  me  all  my  life, 
and  my  memory  will  have  reaped  a  rich  harvest.  Did  you 
not,  as  I  did,  dream  of  settling  at  Chiavari,  of  buying  a  pal- 
ace at  Venice,  a  villa  at  Sorrento,  a  house  at  Florence  ?  Do 
not  all  women  who  love  shun  the  world?  And  I,  for  ever  an 
outcast,  could  I  help  longing  to  bury  myself  in  a  lovely 
landscape,  in  a  heap  of  flowers,  looking  out  on  the  pretty 


102  BEATRIX 

sea,  or  a  valley  as  good  as  the  sea,  like  the  valley  you  look  on 
from  Fiesole? 

"But,  alas,  we  are  poor  artists,  and  want  of  money  is 
dragging  the  wanderers  back  to  Paris  again.  Gennaro  can- 
not bear  me  to  feel  that  I  have  left  all  my  luxury,  and  he 
is  bringing  a  new  work,  a  grand  opera,  to  be  rehearsed  in 
Paris.  Even  at  the  cost  of  my  love,  I  cannot  bear  to  meet 
one  of  those  looks  from  a  woman  or  a  man  which  would 
make  me  feel  murderous.  Yes !  for  I  could  hack  any  one 
to  pieces  who  should  condescend  to  pity  me,  should  offer  me 
the  protection  of  patronage — like  that  enchanting  Chateau- 
neuf,  who,  in  the  time  of  Henri  III.,  I  think,  spurred  her 
horse  to  trample  down  the  Provost  of  Paris  for  some  such 
offence. 

"So  I  am  writing  to  tell  you  that  without  delay  I  shall 
arrive  to  join  you  at  les  Touches,  and  wait  for  our  Gennaro 
in  that  quiet  spot.  You  see  how  bold  I  am  with  my  bene- 
factress and  sister.  Still,  the  magnitude  of  the  obligation 
will  not  betray  my  heart,  like  some  others,  into  ingratitude. 

"You  have  told  me  so  much  about  the  difficulties  of  the 
journey  that  I  shall  try  to  reach  le  Croisic  by  sea.  This  idea 
occurred  to  me  on  hearing  that  there  was  here  a  little  Danish 
vessel,  loaded  with  marble,  which  will  put  in  at  le  Croisic 
to  take  up  salt  on  its  way  back  to  the  Baltic.  By  this  voy- 
age I  shall  avoid  the  fatigue  and  expense  of  traveling  by 
post.  I  know  you  are  not  alone,  and  I  am  glad  of  it;  I 
had  some  remorse  in  the  midst  of  my  happiness.  You  are 
the  only  person  with  whom  I  could  bear  to  be  alone  without 
Conti.  Will  it  not  be  a  pleasure  to  you,  too,  to  have  a  woman 
with  you  who  will  understand  your  happiness  and  not  be 
jealous  of  it? 

"Well,  till  our  meeting !  The  wind  is  fair,  and  I  am  off, 
sending  you  a  kiss." 

"Well,  well,  she,  too,  knows  how  to  love !"  said  Calyste  to 
himself,  folding  up  the  letter  with  a  sad  expression. 

This  sadness  flashed  on  his  mother's  heart  like  a  gleam 


BEATRIX  103 

lighting  up  an  abyss.  The  Baron  had  just  left  the  room. 
Fanny  bolted  the  door  to  the  turret,  and  returned  to  lean 
over  the  back  of  the  chair  in  which  her  boy  was  sitting,  as 
Dido's  sister  bends  over  her  in  Guerin's  picture.  She  kissed 
his  forehead  and  said: 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  child  ?  what  makes  you  unhappy  ? 
You  promised  to  account  to  me  for  your  constant  visits  to 
les  Touches;  I  ought  to  bless  its  mistress,  you  say?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  he  replied.  "She,  my  dear  mother,  has 
shown  me  all  the  defects  of  my  education  in  these  times, 
when  men  of  noble  birth  must  acquire  personal  merit  if  they 
are  to  restore  their  names  to  life  again.  I  was  as  remote 
from  my  day  as  Guerande  is  from  Paris.  She  has  been,  in  a 
way,  the  mother  of  my  intelligence." 

"Not  for  that  can  I  bless  her!"  said  the  Baroness,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"Mother,"  cried  Calyste,  on  whose  forehead  the  hot  tears 
fell,  drops  of  heartbroken  motherhood,  "mother,  do  not  cry. 
Just  now,  when,  to  do  her  a  pleasure,  I  proposed  scouring 
the  coast  from  the  custom-house  hut  to  the  Bourg  de  Batz, 
she  said  to  me,  'How  anxious  your  mother  would  be !' }: 

"She  said  so !     Then  I  can  forgive  her  much,"  said  Fanny. 

"Felicite  wishes  me  well,"  replied  Calyste,  "and  she  often 
checks  herself  from  saying  some  of  those  hasty  and  doubtful 
things  which  artists  let  fall,  so  as  not  to  shake  my  faith — 
knowing  that  it  is  not  immovable.  She  has  told  me  of  the 
life  led  in  Paris  by  youths  of  the  highest  rank,  going  from 
their  country  homes,  as  I  might  from  mine,  leaving  their 
family  without  any  fortune,  and  making  great  wealth  by  the 
force  of  their  will  and  their  intelligence.  I  can  do  what  the 
Baron  de  Eastignac  has  done,  and  he  is  in  the  Ministry. — 
She  gives  me  lessons  on  the  piano,  she  teaches  me  Italian, 
she  has  let  me  into  a  thousand  social  secrets  of  which  no 
one  has  an  inkling  at  Guerande.  She  could  not  give  me  the 
treasures  of  her  love;  she  gives  me  those  of  her  vast  intel- 
lect, her  wit,  her  genius.  She  does  not  choose  to  be  a  mere 
pleasure,  but  a  light  to  me;  she  offends  none  of  my  creeds; 
she  believes  in  the  nobility,  shejoves  Brittany " 


104  BEATRIX 

"She  has  changed  our  Calyste,"  said  the  old  blind  woman, 
interrupting  him,  "for  I  understand  nothing  of  this  talk. 
You  have  a  fine  old  house  over  your  head,  nephew,  old  re- 
lations who  worship  you,  good,  old  servants;  you  can  marry 
a  good  little  Bretonne,  a  pious  and  well-bred  girl  who  will 
make  you  happy,  and  you  can  reserve  your  ambitions  for 
your  eldest  son,  who  will  be  three  times  as  rich  as  you  are 
if  you  are  wise  enough  to  live  quietly  and  economically,  in 
the  shade  and  in  the  peace  of  the  Lord,  so  as  to  redeem  the 
family  estates.  That  is  as  simple  as  a  Breton  heart.  You 
will  get  rich  less  quickly,  but  far  more  surely." 

"Your  aunt  is  right,  my  darling;  she  cares  as  much  for 
your  happiness  as  I  do.  If  I  should  not  succeed  in  arrang- 
ing your  marriage  with  Miss  Margaret,  your  uncle,  Lord 
Fitz-William's  daughter,  it  is  almost  certain  that  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel  will  leave  her  money  to  either  of  her 
nieces  you  may  prefer." 

"And  there  will  be  a  few  crown  pieces  here!"  said  the 
old  aunt  in  a  low,  mysterious  voice. 

"I !  Marry  at  my  age  ?"  said  he,  with  one  of  those  looks 
which  weaken  a  mother's  reason.  "Am  I  to  have  no  sweet 
and  crazy  love-making?  Am  I  never  to  tremble,  thrill,  flut- 
ter, fear,  lie  down  under  a  pitiless  gaze  and  presently  melt 
it?  May  I  never  know  the  beauty  that  is  free,  the  fancy  of 
the  soul,  the  clouds  that  fleet  over  the  serene  blue  of  happi- 
ness and  that  the  breath  of  enjoyment  blows  away?  May 
I  never  stand  under  a  gutter  spout  without  discovering  that 
it  is  raining,  like  the  lovers  seen  by  Diderot  ?  Shall  I  never 
hold  a  burning  coal  in  the  palm  of  my  hand  like  the  Due  de 
Lorraine?  Shall  I  never  climb  a  silken  rope-ladder,  nor 
cling  to  a  rotten,  old  trellis  without  feeling  it  yield?  Am 
I  never  to  hide  in  a  closet  or  under  a  bed?  Can  I  know 
nothing  of  woman  but  wifely  surrender,  or  of  love  but  its 
equable  lamplight?  Is  all  my  curiosity  to  be  satiated  before 
it  is  excited?  Am  I  to  live  without  ever  feeling  that  fury 
of  the  heart  which  adds  to  a  man's  power?  Am  I  to  be 
a  married  monk? — No!  I  have  set  my  teeth  in  the  Paris 


BEATRIX  105 

apple  of  civilization.  Do  you  not  perceive  that  by  your 
chaste,  your  ignorant  family  habits  you  have  laid  the  fire  that 
is  consuming  me,  and  that  I  shall  be  burnt  up  before  I  can 
adore  the  divinity  I  see  wherever  I  turn — in  the  green  foli- 
age and  in  the  sand  glowing  in  the  sunshine,  and  in  all  the 
beautiful,  lordly,  and  elegant  women  who  are  described  in 
the  books  and  poems  I  have  devoured  at  Canaille's  ?  Alas ! 
There  is  but  one  such  woman  in  all  Guerande,  and  that  is 
you,  mother !  The  lovely  Blue  Birds  of  my  dreams  come 
from  Paris ;  they  live  in  the  pages  of  Lord  Byron  and  Scott ; 
they  are  Parisina,  Effie,  Minna !  Or,  again,  that  Royal 
Duchess  I  saw  in  the  moors  among  the  heath  and  broom, 
whose  beauty  sent  my  blood  with  a  rush  to  the  heart!" 

These  thoughts  were  clearer,  more  brilliant,  more  living, 
to  the  Baroness'  eye,  than  art  can  make  them  to  the  reader; 
she  saw  them  in  a  flash  shot  from  the  boy's  glance  like  the 
arrows  from  a  quiver  that  is  upset.  Though  she  had  never 
read  Beaumarchais,  she  thought,  as  any  woman  would,  that 
it  would  be  a  crime  to  make  this  Cherubino  marry. 

"Oh,  my  dear  boy!"  said  she,  taking  him  in  her  arms, 
pressing  him  to  her,  and  kissing  his  beautiful  hair — still  her 
own— "marry  when  you  please,  only  be  happy.  It  is  not  my 
part  to  tease  you." 

Mariotte  came  to  lay  the  table.  Gasselin  had  gone  out 
to  exercise  Calyste's  horse,  for  he  had  not  ridden  it  these 
two  months.  The  three  women,  the  mother,  the  aunt,  and 
Mariotte,  were  of  one  mind,  with  the  natural  cunning  of 
women,  to  make  much  of  Calyste  when  he  dined  at  home. 
Breton  penuriousness,  fortified  by  the  memories  and  habits 
of  childhood,  tried  to  contend  with  the  civilization  of  Paris 
so  faithfully  represented  at  les  Touches,  so  close  to  Gue- 
rande. Mariotte  tried  to  disgust  her  young  master  with  the 
elaborate  dishes  prepared  in  Camille  Maupin's  kitchen,  as 
his  mother  and  aunt  vied  with  each  other  in  attentions  to 
enmesh  their  child  in  the  nets  of  their  tenderness,  and  to 
make  comparisons  impossible. 

"Ah,  ha!     You  have  a  Inline  (a  sort  of  fish),  Monsieur 


106  BEATRIX 

Calyste,  and  snipe,  and  pancakes  such  as  you  will  never  get 
anywhere  but  here,"  said  Mariotte,  with  a  knowing  and  tri- 
umphant air,  as  she  looked  down  on  the  white  cloth,  a  per- 
fect sheet  of  snow. 

After  dinner,  when  his  old  aunt  had  settled  down  to  her 
knitting  again,  when  the  cure  of  Guerande  and  the  Chevalier 
du  Halga  came  in,  attracted  by  their  game  of  mouclie,  Ca- 
lyste  went  out  to  go  back  to  les  Touches,  saying  he  must 
return  Beatrix's  letter. 

Claude  Vignon  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  were  still 
at  table.  The  great  critic  had  a  tendency  to  greediness,  and 
this  vice  was  humored  by  Felicite,  who  knew  how  a  woman 
makes  herself  indispensable  by  such  attentions. 

The  dining-room,  lately  finished  by  considerable  additions, 
showed  how  readily  and  how  quickly  a  woman  can  marry 
the  nature,  adopt  the  profession,  the  passions,  and  the  tastes 
of  the  man  she  loves,  or  means  to  love.  The  table  had  the 
rich  and  dazzling  appearance  which  modern  luxury,  seconded 
by  the  improvements  in  manufactures,  stamps  on  every  de- 
tail. The  noble  but  impoverished  house  of  du  Guenic  knew 
not  the  antagonist  with  whom  it  had  to  do  battle,  nor  how 
large  a  sum  was  needed  to  contend  with  the  brand-new  plate 
brought  from  Paris  by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  with  her 
china — thought  good  enough  for  the  country — her  fine  linen, 
her  silver  gilt,  all  the  trifles  on  her  table,  and  all  the  skill 
of  her  man  cook. 

Calyste  declined  to  take  any  of  the  liqueurs  contained  in 
one  of  the  beautiful  inlaid  cases  of  precious  woods,  that 
might  be  shrines. 

"Here  is  your  letter,"  he  said,  with  childish  ostentation, 
looking  at  Claude,  who  was  sipping  a  glass  of  West  Indian 
liqueur. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  asked  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  tossing  the  letter  across  the  table  to  Vignon,  who 
read  it,  alternately  lifting  and  setting  down  his  glass. 

"Why — that  the  women  of  Paris  are  very  happy;  they 
all  have  men  of  genius,  who  love  them,  to  worship." 


BEATRIX  107 

"Dear  me,  you  are  still  but  a  rustic  \"  said  Felicite,  with 
a  laugh.  "What !  You  did  not  discover  that  she  already 
loves  him  less,  that " 

"It  is  self-evident  I"  said  Claude  Vignon,  who  had  as  yet 
read  no  more  than  the  first  page.  "When  a  woman  is  really 
in  love,  does  she  trouble  her  head  in  the  least  about  her 
position?  Is  she  as  finely  observant  as  the  Marquise?  Can 
she  calculate?  Can  she  distinguish?  Our  dear  Beatrix  is 
tied  to  Conti  by  her  pride;  she  is  condemned  to  love  him, 
come  what  may." 

"Poor  woman !"  said  Camille. 

Calyste  sat  staring  at  the  table,  but  he  saw  nothing.  The 
beautiful  creature  in  her  fantastic  costume,  as  sketched  by 
Felicite  that  morning,  rose  before  him,  radiant  with  light; 
she  smiled  on  him,  she  played  with  her  fan,  and  her  other 
hand,  emerging  from  a  frill  of  lace  and  cherry-colored  velvet, 
lay  white  and  still  on  the  full  folds  of  her  magnificent  petti- 
coat. 

"This  is  the  very  thing  for  you/'  said  Claude  Vignon,  with 
a  sardonic  smile  at  Calyste. 

Calyste  was  offended  at  the  words  the  very  thing. 

"Do  not  suggest  the  idea  of  such  an  intrigue  to  the  dear 
child ;  you  do  not  know  how  dangerous  such  a  jest  may  be.  I 
know  Beatrix;  she  has  too  much  magnanimity  of  temper  to 
change;  besides,  Conti  will  be  with  her/' 

"Ah !"  said  Claude  Vignon,  satirically,  "a  little  twinge  of 
jealousy,  heh?" 

"Can  you  suppose  it  ?"  said  Camille,  proudly. 

"You  are  more  clear-sighted  than  a  mother  could  be,"  re- 
plied Claude. 

"But,  I  ask  you,  is  it  possible  ?"  and  she  looked  at  Calyste. 

"And  yet/'  Vignon  went  on,  "they  would  be  well  matched. 
She  is  ten  years  older  than  he  is ;  he  would  be  the  girl." 

"A  girl,  monsieur,  who  has  twice  been  under  fire  in  la 
Vendee.  If  there  had  but  been  twenty  thousand  of  such 
girls » 

"I  was  singing  your  praise,"  said  Vignon,  "an  easier  mat- 
ter than  singeing  your  beard." 


108  BEATRIX 

"I  have  a  sword  to  cut  the  beards  of  those  who  wear  them 
too  long/'  retorted  Calyste. 

"And  I  have  a  tongue  that  cuts  sharply,  too,"  replied  Vi- 
gnon,  smiling.  "We  are  Frenchmen — the  affair  can  be  ar- 
ranged." 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  gave  Calyste  a  beseeching  look, 
which  calmed  him  at  once. 

"Why,"  said  Felicite,  to  end  the  discussion,  "why  is  it  that 
youths,  like  my  Calyste  there,  always  begin  by  loving  women 
no  longer  young?" 

"I  know  of  no  more  guileless  and  generous  impulse,"  said 
Vignon.  "It  is  the  consequence  of  the  delightful  qualities  of 
youth.  And  besides,  to  what  end  would  old  women  come 
if  it  were  not  for  such  love  ?  You  are  young  and  handsome, 
and  will  be  for  twenty  years  to  come;  before  you  we  may 
speak  plainly,"  he  went  on,  with  a  keen  glance  at  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches.  "In  the  first  place,  the  semi-dowagers 
to  whom  very  young  men  attach  themselves  know  how  to  love 
far  better  than  young  women.  A  youth  is  too  like  a  woman 
for  a  young  woman  to  attract  him.  Such  a  passion  is  too 
suggestive  of  the  myth  of  Narcissus.  Besides  this,  there  is, 
I  believe,  a  common  want  of  experience  which  keeps  them 
asunder.  Hence  the  reason  which  makes  it  true  that  a  young 
woman's  heart  can  only  be  understood  by  a  man  in  whom 
long  practice  is  veiled  by  his  real  or  assumed  passion,  is  the 
same  as  that  which,  allowing  for  differences  of  nature,  makes 
a  woman  past  her  youth  more  seductive  to  a  boy;  he  is 
intensely  conscious  that  he  shall  succeed  with  her,  and  the 
woman's  vanity  is  intensely  flattered  by  his  pursuit  of  her. 

"Then,  again,  it  is  natural  that  the  young  should  seize 
on  fruit,  and  autumn  offers  many  fine  and  luscious  kinds. 
Is  it  nothing  to  meet  those  looks,  at  once  bold  and  reserved, 
languishing  at  the  proper  moments,  soft  with  the  last  gleams 
of  love,  so  warm,  so  soothing?  And  the  elaborate  elegance 
of  speech,  the  splendid  ripe  shoulders  so  finely  filled  out,  the 
ample  roundness,  the  rich  and  undulating  plumpness,  the 
hands  full  of  dimples,  the  pulpy,  well-nourished  skin,  the 


BEATRIX  109 

brow  full  of  overflowing  sentiment,  on  which  the  light  lingers, 
the  hair,  so  carefully  cherished  and  dressed,  where  fine  part- 
ings of  white  skin  are  delicately  traced,  and  the  throat  with 
those  fine  curves,  the  inviting  nape,  where  every  resource  of 
art  is  applied  to  bring  out  the  contrast  between  the  hair  and 
the  tones  of  the  flesh,  to  emphasize  all  the  audacity  of  life 
and  love?  Dark  women  then  get  some  of  the  tones  of  the 
fairest,  the  amber  shade  of  maturity. 

"Then,  again,  these  women  betray  their  knowledge  of  the 
world  in  their  smiles,  and  display  it  in  their  conversation; 
they  know  how  to  talk;  they  will  set  the  whole  world  before 
you  to  raise  a  smile;  they  have  sublime  touches  of  dignity 
and  pride;  they  can  shriek  with  despair  in  a  way  to  break 
your  heart,  wail  a  farewell  to  love,  knowing  that  it  is  futile, 
and  only  resuscitates  passion ;  they  grow  young  again  by  dint 
of  varying  the  most  desperately  simple  things.  They  con- 
stantly expected  to  be  contradicted  as  to  the  falling  off  they 
so  coquettishly  proclaim,  and  the  intoxication  of  their  tri- 
umph is  contagious.  Their  devotion  is  complete ;  they  listen, 
in  short,  they  love;  they  clutch  at  love  as  a  man  condemned 
to  death  clings  to  the  smallest  trifles  of  living;  they  are  like 
those  lawyers  who  can  urge  every  plea  in  a  case  without  fa- 
tiguing the  Court ;  they  exhaust  every  means  in  their  power ; 
indeed,  perfect  love  can  only  be  known  in  them. 

"I  doubt  if  they  are  ever  forgotten,  any  more  than  we  can 
forget  anything  vast  and  sublime. 

"A  young  woman  has  a  thousand  other  things  to  amuse 
her,  these  women  have  nothing;  they  have  no  conceit  left, 
no  vanity,  no  meanness ;  their  love  is  the  Loire  at  its  mouth, 
immense,  swelled  by  every  disenchantment,  every  affluent  of 
life,  and  that  is  why — my  daughter  is  dumb !"  he  ended,  see- 
ing Mademoiselle  des  Touches  in  an  attitude  of  ecstasy,  clutch- 
ing Calyste's  hand  tightly,  perhaps  to  thank  him  for  having 
been  the  cause  of  such  a  moment  for  her,  of  such  a  tribute 
of  praise  that  she  could  detect  no  snare  in  it. 

All  through  the  evening  Claude  Vignon  and  Felicite"  were 
brilliantly  witty,  telling  anecdotes  and  describing  the  life  of 


110  BEATRIX 

Paris  to  Calyste,  who  quite  fell  in  love  with  Claude,  for  wit 
exerts  a  peculiar  charm  on  men  of  feeling. 

"I  should  not  be  in  the  least  surprised  to  see  Madame  de 
Rochefide  land  here  to-morrow  with  Conti,  who  is  accom- 
panying her,  no  doubt,"  said  Claude  at  the  end  of  the  even- 
ing. "When  I  came  up  from  le  Croisic,  the  seamen  had  spied 
a  small  ship,  Danish,  Swedish,  or  Norwegian." 

This  speech  brought  the  color  to  Camille's  cheeks,  calm 
as  she  was. 

That  night,  again,  Madame  du  Guenic  sat  up  for  her  son 
till  one  o'clock,  unable  to  imagine  what  he  could  be  doing  at 
les  Touches  if  Felicite  did  not  love  him. 

"He  must  be  in  the  way,"  thought  this  delightful  mother. 

"What  have  you  had  to  talk  about  so  long?"  she  asked, 
as  she  saw  him  come  in. 

"Oh,  mother!  I  never  spent  a  more  delightful  evening. 
Genius  is  a  great,  a  most  sublime  thing !  Why  did  you  not 
bestow  genius  on  me?  With  genius  a  man  must  be  able  to 
choose  the  woman  he  loves  from  all  the  world;  she  must 
inevitably  be  his !" 

"But  you  are  handsome,  my  Calyste." 

"Beauty  has  no  place  but  in  women.  And  besides,  Claude 
Vignon  is  fine.  Men  of  genius  have  a  brow  that  beams,  eyes 
where  lightnings  play — and  I,  unhappy  wretch,  I  only  know 
how  to  love." 

"They  say  that  is  all-sufficient,  my  darling,"  said  she,  kiss- 
ing his  forehead. 

"Really,  truly?" 

"I  have  been  told  so.     I  have  had  no  experience." 

It  was  Calyste's  turn  to  kiss  his  mother's  hand  with  rever- 
ence. 

"I  will  love  for  all  those  who  might  have  been  your  ador- 
ers," said  he. 

"Dear  child,  it  is  in  some  degree  your  duty;  you  have  in- 
herited all  my  feelings.  So  do  not  be  rash ;  try  to  love  only 
high-souled  women,  if  you  must  love." 


BEATRIX  111 

What  young  man,  welling  over  with  passion  and  suppressed 
vitality,  but  would  have  had  the  triumphant  idea  of  going 
to  le  Croisic  to  see  Madame  de  Rochefide  land,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  study  her,  himself  unknown  ?  Calyste  greatly  amazed 
his  father  and  mother,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  fair  Mar- 
quise's arrival,  by  setting  out  in  the  morning  without  wait- 
ing for  breakfast.  Heaven  knows  how  briskly  the  boy  stepped 
out.  He  felt  as  if  some  new  strength  had  come  to  his  aid, 
he  was  so  light ;  he  kept  close  under  the  walls  of  les  Touches 
to  avoid  being  seen.  The  delightful  boy  was  ashamed  of 
his  ardor,  and  had  perhaps  a  miserable  fear  of  being  laughed 
at ;  Felicite  and  Claude  Vignon  were  so  horribly  keen-sighted ! 
And,  then,  in  such  cases  a  youth  believes  that  his  forehead 
is  transparent. 

He  followed  the  zigzag  path  across  the  maze  of  salt- 
marshes,  reached  the  sands,  and  was  across  them  with  a  skip 
and  a  hop,  in  spite  of  the  scorching  sun  that  twinkled  on 
them. 

This  brought  him  to  the  edge  of  the  strand,  banked  up 
with  a  breakwater,  near  which  stands  a  house  where  travelers 
may  find  shelter  from  storms,  sea-gales,  rain,  and  the  whirl- 
wind. It  is  not  always  possible  to  cross  the  little  strait,  nor 
are  there  always  boats,  and  it  is  convenient,  while  they  are 
crossing  from  the  port,  to  have  shelter  for  the  horses,  asses, 
merchandise,  or  passengers'  luggage.  From  thence  men  can 
scan  the  open  sea  and  the  port  of  le  Croisic ;  and  from  thence 
Calyste  soon  discerned  two  boats  coming,  loaded  with  bag- 
gage— bundles,  trunks,  carpet-bags,  and  cases,  of  which  the 
shape  and  size  proclaimed  to  the  natives  the  arrival  of  extra- 
ordinary things,  such  as  could  only  belong  to  a  voyager  of 
distinction. 

In  one  of  these  boats  sat  a  young  woman  with  a  straw  hat 
and  green  veil,  accompanied  by  a  man.  This  boat  was  the 
first  to  come  to  land.  Calyste  felt  a  thrill;  but  their  ap- 
pearance showed  them  to  be  a  maid  and  a  man-servant,  and 
he  dared  not  question  them. 

"Are  you  crossing  to  le  Croisic,  Monsieur  Calyste  ?"  asked 


112  BEATRIX 

one  of  the  boatmen,  who  knew  him;  but  he  replied  only  by 
a  negative  shake  of  the  head,  ashamed  of  having  his  name 
mentioned. 

Calyste  was  enchanted  at  the  sight  of  a  trunk  covered  with 
waterproof  canvas,  on  which  he  read  Madame  la  Marquise 
de  Rochefide.  The  name  glittered  in  his  eyes  like  some  talis- 
man ;  it  had  to  him  a  purport  of  mysterious  doom ;  he  knew 
beyond  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  he  should  fall  in  love  with 
this  woman;  the  smallest  things  relating  to  her  interested 
him  already,  spurred  his  fancy  and  his  curiosity.  Why  ? — In 
the  burning  desert  of  its  immeasurable  and  objectless  desires 
does  not  youth  put  forth  all  its  powers  towards  the  first  woman 
who  comes  within  reach?  Beatrix  had  fallen  heir  to  the 
love  that  Camille  had  disdained. 

Calyste  watched  the  landing  of  the  luggage,  looking  out 
from  time  to  time  at  le  Croisic,  hoping  to  see  a  boat  come 
out  of  the  harbor,  cross  to  this  little  headland,  and  reveal  to 
him  the  Beatrix  who  had  already  become  to  him  what  another 
Beatrix  was  to  Dante,  an  eternal  statue  of  marble  on  whose 
hands  he  would  hang  his  flowers  and  wreaths.  He  stood 
with  his  arms  folded,  lost  in  the  dream  of  expectancy.  A 
thing  worthy  of  remark,  but  which  nevertheless  has  never 
been  remarked,  is  the  way  in  which  we  frequently  subordi- 
nate our  feelings  to  our  will,  how  we  pledge  ourself  to  ourself, 
as  it  were,  and  how  we  make  our  fate;  chance  has  certainly 
far  less  share  in  it  than  we  suppose. 

"I  see  no  horses,"  said  the  maid,  sitting  on  a  trunk. 

"And  I  see  no  carriage-road,"  said  the  valet. 

"Well,  horses  have  certainly  been  here,"  replied  the  woman, 
pointing  to  their  traces.  "Monsieur,"  said  she,  addressing 
Calyste,  "is  that  the  road  leading  to  Guerande  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  he;   "whom  are  you  expecting?" 

"We  were  told  that  we  should  be  met,  fetched  to  les 
Touches. — If  they  are  very  late,  I  do  not  know  how  Madame 
can  dress,"  said  she  to  the  man.  "You  had  better  walk  on 
to  les  Touches.  What  a  land  of  savages !" 

It  dawned  on  Calyste  that  he  was  in  a  false  position. 


BEATRIX  113 

"Then  your  mistress  is  going  to  les  Touches?"  he  asked. 

"Mademoiselle  came  to  meet  her  at  seven  this  morning/' 
was  the  reply.  "Ah !  here  come  the  horses." 

Calyste  fled,  running  back  to  Guerande  with  the  swiftness 
and  lightness  of  a  chamois,  and  doubling  like  a  hare  to  avoid 
being  seen  by  the  servants  from  les  Touches;  still,  he  met 
two  of  them  in  the  narrow  way  across  the  marsh  which  he 
had  to  cross. 

"Shall  I  go  in  ?  Shall  I  not  ?"  he  asked  himself  as  he  saw 
the  tops  of  the  pine-trees  of  les  Touches. 

He  was  afraid;  he  returned  to  Guerande  hang-dog  and 
repentant,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  Mall,  where  he  con- 
tinued the  discussion  with  himself. 

He  started  as  he  caught  sight  of  les  Touches,  and  studied 
the  weather-cocks. 

"She  can  have  no  idea  of  my  excitement,"  said  he  to  him- 
self. 

His  wandering  thoughts  became  so  many  grapnels  that 
caught  in  his  heart  and  held  the  Marquise  there.  Calyste 
had  felt  none  of  these  terrors,  these  anticipatory  joys  with 
regard  to  Camille;  he  had  first  met  her  on  horseback,  and 
his  desire  had  sprung  up,  as  at  the  sight  of  a  beautiful  flower 
he  might  have  longed  to  pluck.  These  vacillations  consti- 
tute a  sort  of  poem  in  a  timid  soul.  Fired  by  the  first  flames 
of  imagination,  these  souls  rise  up  in  wrath,  are  appease^, 
and  eager  by  turns,  and  in  silence  and  solitude  reach  the  ut- 
most heights  of  love  before  they  have  even  spoken  to  the  ob- 
ject of  so  many  struggles. 

Calyste  saw  from  afar,  on  the  Mall,  the  Chevalier  du  Halga, 
walking  with  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel;  he  hid  himself. 
The  Chevalier  and  the  old  lady,  believing  themselves  alone 
on  the  Mall,  were  talking  aloud. 

"Since  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet  is  coming  to  you,"  said 
the  Chevalier,  "keep  her  three  or  four  months.  How  can 
you  expect  her  to  flirt  with  Calyste?  She  never  stays  here 
long  enough  to  attempt  it;  whereas,  if  they  see  each  other 
every  day,  the  two  children  will  end  by  being  desperately  in 


114  BEATRIX 

love,  and  you  will  see  them  married  this  winter.  If  yon  say 
two  words  of  your  plans  to  Charlotte,  she  will  at  once  say 
four  to  Calyste;  and  a  girl  of  sixteen  Avill  certainly  win  the 
day  against  a  woman  of  forty-something!" 

The  two  old  folks  turned  to  retrace  their  steps.  Calyste 
heard  no  more,  but  he  had  understood  what  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel's  plan  was.  In  his  present  frame  of  mind  noth- 
ing could  be  more  disastrous.  Is  it  in  the  fever  of  a  pre- 
conceived passion  that  a  young  man  will  accept  as  his  wife 
a  girl  found  for  him  by  others?  Calyste,  who  cared  not  a 
straw  for  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  felt  inclined  to  repulse 
her.  Considerations  of  money  could  not  touch  him;  he  had 
been  accustomed  from  childhood  to  the  modest  style  of  his 
father's  house;  besides,  seeing  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
live  as  poorly  as  the  Guenics  themselves,  he  had  no  notion 
of  her  wealth.  And  a  youth  brought  up  as  Calyste  had  been 
would  not,  in  any  case,  consider  anything  but  feeling;  and 
all  his  mind  was  set  on  the  Marquise. 

Compared  with  the  portrait  drawn  by  Camille,  what  was 
Charlotte?  The  companion  of  his  childhood,  whom  he 
treated  as  his  sister. 

*He  did  not  get  home  till  five  o'clock.  When  he  went  into 
the  room,  his  mother,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  handed  him 
a  note  from  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  as  follows : — 

"My  DEAR  CALYSTE, — The  beautiful  Marquise  de  Koche- 
fide  has  arrived;  we  count  on  you  to  do  honor  to  her  ad- 
vent. Claude,  always  satirical,  declares  that  you  will  be  Bice 
and  she  Dante.  The  honor  of  Brittany  and  of  the  Guenics 
is  at  stake  when  there  is  a  Casteran  to  be  welcomed.  So  let 
us  meet  soon. — Yours, 

"CAMILLE  MAUPIN. 

"Come  as  you  are,  without  ceremony,  or  we  shall  look 
ridiculous." 

Calyste  showed  his  mother  the  note,  and  went  at  once. 
"What  are  these  Casterans  ?"  said  she  to  the  Baron. 


BEATRIX  115 

"An  old  Norman  family,  related  to  William  the  Con- 
queror/' he  replied.  "Their  arms  are  In  tierce  per  fess  azure 
gules  and  or,  a  horse  rearing  argent  hoofed  or. — The  beauti- 
ful creature  for  whom  le  Gars  was  killed  at  Fougeres  in  1800 
was  the  daughter  of  a  Casteran  who  became  a  nun  at  Seez, 
and  was  made  'abbess  after  being  thrown  over  by  the  Due  de 
Verneuil." 

"And  the  Rochefides?" 

"I  do  not  know  the  name;  I  should  want  to  see  their 
arms,"  said  he. 

The  Baroness  was  a  little  relieved  at  hearing  that  the  Mar- 
quise Beatrix  de  Rochefide  was  of  an  old  family;  still,  she 
felt  some  alarm  at  knowing  that  her  son  was  exposed  to 
fresh  fascinations. 

Calyste,  as  he  walked,  felt  the  most  violent  and  yet  de- 
lightful impulses;  his  throat  was  choked,  his  heart  full,  his 
brain  confused;  he  was  devoured  by  fever.  He  wanted  to 
walk  slower,  but  a  superior  power  urged  him  on.  All  young 
men  have  known  this  perturbation  of  the  senses  caused  by 
a  vague  hope:  a  subtle  fire  flames  within  and  raises  a  halo, 
like  the  glory  shown  about  the  divine  persons  in  a  sacred 
picture,  through  which  they  see  nature  in  a  glow  and  woman 
radiant.  Are  they  not  then,  like  the  saints  themselves,  full 
of  faith,  ardor,  hope,  and  purity? 

The  young  Breton  found  the  whole  party  in  Camille's  little 
private  drawing-room.  It  was  by  this  time  nearly  six 
o'clock;  through  the  windows  the  sinking  sun  shed  a  ruddy 
light,  broken  by  the  trees;  the  air  was  still,  the  room  was 
full  of  the  soft  gloom  that  women  love  so  well. 

"Here  is  the  member  for  Brittany,"  said  Camille  Maupin, 
smiling  to  her  friend,  as  Calyste  lifted  the  tapestry  curtain 
over  the  door.  "As  punctual  as  a  king!" 

"You  recognized  his  step?"  said  Claude  Vignon  to  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches. 

Calyste  bowed  to  the  Marquise,  who  merely  nodded  to  him ; 
he  had  not  looked  at  her.  He  shook  hands  with  Claude  Vi- 
gnon, who  offered  him  his  hand. 


116  BEATRIX 

"Here  is  the  great  man  of  whom  you  have  heard  so  much, 
Gennaro  Conti,"  Camille  went  on,  without  answering  Claude 
Vignon. 

She  introduced  to  Calyste  a  man  of  middle  height,  thin 
and  slender,  with  chestnut  hair,  eyes  that  were  almost  orange 
color,  with  a  white,  freckled  skin,  in  short,"  so  exactly  the 
well-known  head  of  Lord  Byron,  that  it  would  be  superflu- 
ous to  describe  it — but  perhaps  he  held  it  better.  Conti  was 
not  a  little  proud  of  this  resemblance. 

"I  am  delighted,  being  but  one  day  at  les  Touches,  to  meet 
Monsieur,"  said  Gennaro. 

"It  is  my  part  to  say  as  much  to  you,"  replied  Calyste,  with 
sufficient  ease  of  manner. 

"He  is  as  handsome  as  an  angel !"  the  Marquise  said  to 
Felicite.  Calyste,  standing  between  the  divan  and  the  two 
women,  overheard  the  words,  though  spoken  in  a  whisper. 
He  moved  to  an  armchair,  and  stole  watchful  looks  at  the 
Marquise.  In  the  soft  light  of  the  setting  sun  he  saw  loung- 
ing on  the  divan,  as  though  a  sculptor  had  placed  her  in 
position,  a  white,  sinuous  figure  which  seemed  to  dazzle  his 
sight.  Felicite,  without  knowing  it,  had  served  her  friend 
well  by  her  description. 

Beatrix  was  superior  to  the  not  too  flattering  portrait  drawn 
by  Camille.  Was  it  not  partly  for  the  stranger's  benefit  that 
Beatrix  had  placed  in  her  splendid  hair  bunches  of  blue 
cornflowers,  which  showed  off  the  pale  gleam  of  her  ring- 
lets, arranged  to  frame  her  face  and  flicker  over  her  cheeks  ? 
Her  eyes  were  set  in  circles  darkened  by  fatigue,  but  only 
to  the  tone  of  the  purest  and  most  opalescent  mother-of- 
pearl;  her  cheeks  were  as  bright  as  her  eyes.  Under  her 
white  skin,  as  delicate  as  the  silky  lining  of  an  egg-shell, 
life  flushed  in  the  purple  blood.  The  finish  of  her  features 
was  exquisite;  her  brow  seemed  diaphanous.  This  fair  and 
gentle  head,  finely  set  on  a  long  neck  of  marvelous  beauty, 
lent  itself  to  the  most  varying  expression. 

Her  waist,  slight  enough  to  span,  had  a  bewitching  grace; 
her  bare  shoulders  gleamed  in  the  twilight  like  a  white  ca- 


BEATRIX  11Y 

mellia  in  black  hair.  The  bosom,  well  supported,  but  cov- 
ered with  a  clear  handkerchief,  showed  two  exquisitely  en- 
ticing curves.  The  muslin  dress — white  flowered  with  blue, 
the  wide  sleeves,  the  bodice,  pointed,  and  without  any  sash, 
the  shoes  with  sandals  crossed  over  fine  thread  stockings — 
all  showed  perfect  knowledge  of  the  arts  of  dress.  Earrings 
of  silver  filagree,  marvels  of  Genoese  work  which  no  doubt 
were  coming  into  fashion,  were  admirably  suited  to  the  ex- 
quisite softness  of  the  fair  hair  starred  with  cornflowers. 

At  a  single  eager  glance  Calyste  took  in  all  this  beauty, 
which  stamped  itself  on  his  soul.  Beatrix,  so  fair,  and  Fe- 
licite,  so  dark,  recalled  the  "Keepsake"  contrasts,  so  much  af- 
fected by  English  engravers  and  draughtsmen.  They  were 
woman's  weakness  and  woman's  strength  in  their  utmost  ex- 
pression, a  perfect  antithesis.  These  two  women  could  never 
be  rivals ;  each  had  her  empire.  They  were  like  a  delicate  pale 
periwinkle  or  lily  by  the  side  of  a  sumptuous  and  gorgeous 
red  poppy,  or  a  turquoise  by  a  ruby.  In  an  instant  Calyste  was 
possessed  by  a  passion  which  crowned  the  secret  working  of  his 
hopes,  his  fears,  his  doubts.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had 
roused  his  senses,  Beatrix  fired  his  mind  and  heart.  The 
young  Breton  was  conscious  of  the  birth  within  himself  of 
an  all-conquering  force  that  would  respect  nothing.  And  he 
shot  at  Conti  a  look  of  envy  and  hatred,  gloomy,  and  full  of 
alarms,  a  look  he  had  never  had  for  Claude  Vignon. 

Calyste  called  upon  all  his  resolution  to  restrain  himself, 
thinking,  nevertheless,  that  the  Turks  were  very  right  to  keep 
their  women  shut  up,  and  that  such  beautiful  creatures  should 
be  forbidden  to  show  themselves  in  their  tempting  witcheries 
to  young  men  aflame  with  love.  This  hot  hurricane  was 
lulled  as  soon  as  Beatrix  turned  her  eyes  on  him  and  her 
gentle  voice  made  itself  heard;  the  poor  boy  already  feared 
her  as  he  feared  God. 

The  dinner-bell  rang. 

"Calyste,  give  your  arm  to  the  Marquise/'  said  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches,  taking  Conti  on  her  right  and  Claude  on  her 
left,  as  she  stood  aside  to  let  the  young  couple  pass. 


118  BEATRIX 

Thus  to  go  down  the  old  staircase  of  les  Touches  was  to 
Calyste  like  a  first  battle ;  his  heart  failed  him,  he  found  noth- 
ing to  say,  a  faint  moisture  stood  on  his  brow  and  down  his 
spine.  His  arm  trembled  so  violently  that  at  the  bottom  step 
the  Marquise  said  to  him : 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"Never,"  said  he  in  a  choked  voice,  "never  in  my  life  have 
I  seen  a  woman  so  beautiful  as  you  are,  excepting  my  mother ; 
and  I  cannot  control  my  agitation." 

"Why,  have  you  not  Camille  Maupin  here  ?" 

"But  what  a  difference !"  said  Calyste  artlessly. 

"Ha  !  Calyste,"  Felicite  whispered  in  his  ear ;  "did  I  not  tell 
you  that  you  would  forget  me  as  though  I  had  never  existed  ? 
Sit  there,  next  her  on  her  right,  and  Vignon  on  her  left. — As 
for  you,  Gennaro,  I  keep  you  by  me,"  she  added,  laughing; 
"we  will  keep  an  eye  on  her  flirtations." 

The  accent  in  which  Camille  spoke  struck  Claude,  who 
looked  at  her  with  the  wily  and  apparently  absent  glance, 
which  in  him  showed  that  he  was  observant.  He  never  ceased 
watching  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  throughout  dinner. 

"Flirtations !"  replied  the  Marquise,  drawing  off  her  gloves 
and  showing  her  beautiful  hands;  "I  have  every  excuse;  on 
one  side  of  me  I  have  a  poet,"  and  she  turned  to  Claude ;  "on 
the  other  poetry." 

Gennaro  bestowed  on  Calyste  a  gaze  full  of  flattery. 

By  candle-light  Beatrix  looked  even  more  beautiful  than 
before.  The  pale  gleam  of  the  wax-lights  cast  a  satin  sheen  on 
her  forehead,  set  sparks  in  her  gazelle-like  eyes,  and  fell 
through  her  silky  ringlets,  making  separate  hairs  shine  like 
threads  of  gold.  With  a  graceful  movement  she  threw  off  her 
gauze  scarf,  uncovering  her  shoulders.  Calyste  could  then  see 
the  delicate  nape,  as  white  as  milk,  with  a  deep  hollow  that 
parted  into  two,  curving  off  towards  each  shoulder  with  a 
lovely  and  delusive  symmetry.  The  changes  of  aspect  in  which 
pretty  women  indulge  produce  very  little  effect  in  the  fashion- 
able world,  where  every  eye  is  blase,  but  they  commit  fearful 
ravages  in  a  soul  as  fresh  as  was  Calyste's.  This  bust,  so  unlike 


BEATRIX  119 

Camille's,  revealed  a  perfectly  different  character  in  Beatrix. 
There  could  be  seen  pride  of  race,  a  tenacity  peculiar  to  the 
aristocracy,  and  a  certain  hardness  in  that  double  muscle  of 
the  shoulder,  which  is  perhaps  the  last  surviving  vestige  of  the 
conqueror's  strength. 

•  Calyste  found  it  very  difficult  to  seem  to  eat ;  he  was  full 
of  nervous  feelings,  which  took  away  his  hunger.  As  in  all 
young  men,  Nature  was  in  the  clutches  of  those  throes  which 
precede  first  love,  and  stamp  it  so  deeply  on  the  soul.  At  his 
age  the  ardor  of  the  heart  repressed  by  the  ardor  of  the  moral 
sense  leads  to  an  internal  conflict,  which  accounts  for  the  long, 
respectful  hesitancy,  the  deep  absorption  of  love,  the  absence 
of  all  self-interest, — all  the  peculiar  attractions  of  youths 
whose  heart  and  life  are  pure. 

As  he  noted — by  stealth,  so  as  not  to  rouse  Gennaro's  jeal- 
ous suspicions — all  the  details  which  make  the  Marquise  de 
Eochefide  so  supremely  beautiful,  Calyste  was  oppressed  by 
the  majesty  of  the  lady  beloved ;  he  felt  himself  shrink  before 
the  haughtiness  of  some  of  her  glances,  the  imposing  aspect  of 
her  face,  overflowing  with  aristocratic  self-consciousness,  a 
pride,  which  women  can  express  by  slight  movements,  by  airs 
of  the  head  and  a  magnificent  slowness  of  gesture,  which  are 
all  less  affected  and  less  studied  than  might  be  supposed. 
There  is  a  sentiment  behind  all  these  modes  of  expression. 
The  ambiguous  position  in  which  Beatrix  found  herself,  com- 
pelled her  to  keep  a  watch  over  herself,  to  be  imposing  without 
being  ridiculous;  and  women  of  the  highest  stamp  can  all 
achieve  this,  though  it  is  the  rock  on  which  ordinary  women 
are  wrecked. 

Beatrix  could  guess  from  Felicite's  looks  all  the  secret  ador- 
ation she  inspired  in  her  neighbor,  and  that  it  was  unworthy 
of  her  to  encourage  it ;  so  from  time  to  time  she  bestowed  on 
him  a  repellant  glance  that  fell  on  him  like  an  avalanche  of 
snow.  The  unfortunate  youth  appealed  to  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  by  a  gaze  in  which  she  felt  the  tears  kept  down  in 
his  heart  by  superhuman  determination,  and  Felicite  kindly 
asked  him  why  he  ate  nothing.  Calyste  stuffed  to  order,  and 


120  BEATRIX 

made  a  feint  of  joining  in  the  conversation.  The  idea  of  be- 
ing tiresome  instead  of  agreeable  was  unendurable,  and  ham- 
mered at  his  brain.  He  was  all  the  more  bashful  because  he 
saw,  behind  the  Marquise's  chair,  the  man-servant  he  had  met 
in  the  morning  on  the  jetty,  who  would  no  doubt  report  his 
curiosity. 

Whether  he  were  contrite  or  happy,  Madame  de  Rochefide 
paid  no  attention  to  him.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  led 
her  to  talk  of  her  journey  in  Italy,  and  she  gave  a  very  witty 
account  of  the  point-blank  fire  of  passion  with  which  a  little 
Russian  diplomate  at  Florence  had  honored  her,  laughing  at 
these  little  young  men  who  fling  themselves  at  a  woman  as  a 
locust  rushes  on  grass.  She  made  Claude  Vignon  and  Gennaro 
laugh,  and  Felicite  also;  but  these  darts  of  sarcasm  went 
straight  to  Calyste's  heart,  who  only  heard  words  through  the 
humming  in  his  ears  and  brain.  The  poor  boy  made  no  vow, 
as  some  obstinate  men  have  done,  to  win  this  woman  at  any 
cost;  no,  he  was  not  angry,  he  was  miserable.  When  he  dis- 
cerned in  Beatrix  an  intention  to  sacrifice  him  at  Gennaro's 
feet,  he  only  said  to  himself — "If  only  I  can  serve  her  in  any 
way  I"  and  allowed  himself  to  be  trampled  on  with  the  meek- 
ness of  a  lamb. 

"How  is  it,"  said  Claude  Vignon  to  the  Marquise,  "that 
you,  who  so  much  admire  poetry,  give  it  so  bad  a  reception? 
Such  artless  admiration,  so  sweet  in  its  expression,  with  no 
second  thought,  no  reservation,  is  not  that  the  poetry  of  the 
heart?  Confess  now  that  it  gives  you  a  sense  of  satisfaction 
and  well-being." 

"Certainly,"  she  replied,  "but  we  should  be  very  unhappy 
and,  above  all,  very  worthless  if  we  yielded  to  every  passion  we 
inspire." 

"If  you  made  no  selection,"  said  Conti,  "we  should  not  be  so 
proud  of  being  loved." 

"When  shall  I  be  chosen  and  distinguished  by  a  woman?" 
Calyste  wondered  to  himself,  restraining  his  agony  of  emotion 
with  difficulty. 

He  reddened  like  a  sufferer  on  whose  wound  a  finger  is  laid. 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  startled  by  the  expression  she 


BEATRIX  121 

saw  in  Calyste's  face,  and  tried  to  comfort  him  with  a  sympa- 
thizing look.  Claude  Vignon  caught  that  look.  From  that 
moment  the  writer's  spirits  rose,  and  he  vented  his  gaiety  in 
sarcasms;  he  maintained  that  love  lived  only  in  desire,  that 
most  women  were  mistaken  in  their  love,  that  they  of  te"n  loved 
for  reasons  unknown  to  the  men  and  to  themselves,  that  they 
sometimes  wished  to  deceive  themselves;  that  the  noblest  of 
them  were  still  insincere. 

"Be  content  to  criticise  books,  and  do  not  criticise  our  feel- 
ings/' said  Camille,  with  an  imperious  flash. 

The  dinner  ceased  to  be  lively.  Claude  Vignon's  satire  had 
made  both  the  women  grave.  Calyste  was  in  acute  torment  in 
spite  of  the  happiness  of  gazing  at  Beatrix.  Conti  tried  to 
read  Madame  de  Kochefide's  eyes  and  guess  her  thoughts. 
When  the  meal  was  ended,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  took 
Calyste's  arm,  left  the  other  two  men  to  the  Marquise,  and  al- 
lowed them  to  lead  the  way,  so  as  to  say  to  the  youth : 

"My  dear  boy,  if  the  Marquise  falls  in  love  with  you,  she 
will  pitch  Conti  out  of  the  window;  but  you  are  behaving  in 
such  a  way  as  to  tighten  their  bonds.  Even  if  she  were  en- 
chanted by  your  worship,  could  she  take  any  notice  of  it? 
Command  yourself/' 

"She  is  so  hard  on  me,  she  will  never  love  me,"  said  Calyste ; 
"and  if  she  does  not  love  me,  I  shall  die." 

"Die !  you !  My  dear  Calyste,  you  are  childish,"  said  Ca- 
mille. "You  would  not  have  died  for  me,  then?" 

"You  made  yourself  my  friend,"  he  replied. 

After  the  little  chat  that  always  accompanies  the  coffee, 
Vignon  begged  Conti  to  sing.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  sat 
down  to  the  piano.  Camille  and  Gennaro  sang  Dunque  il  mio 
bene  tu  mia  sarai,  the  final  duet  in  Zingarelli's  Romeo  e  Giu- 
lietta,  one  of  the  most  pathetic  pages  of  modern  music.  The 
passage  Di  tanti  palpiti  expresses  love  in  all  its  passion. 
Calyste,  sitting  in  the  armchair  where  he  had  sat  when  Fe- 
licite  had  told  him  the  story  of  the  Marquise,  listened  de- 
voutly. Beatrix  and  Vignon  stood  on  each  side  of  the  piano. 

Conti's  exquisite  voice  blended  perfectly  with  Felicite's. 
They  both  had  frequently  sung  the  piece;  they  knew  all  its 


122  BEATRIX 

resources,  and  agreed  wonderfully  in  bringing  them  out.  It 
was  in  their  hands  what  the  musician  had  intended  to  create, 
a  poem  of  divine  melancholy,  the  swan-song  of  two  lovers. 
When  the  duet  was  ended  the  hearers  were  all  in  a  state  of 
feeling  that  cannot  find  expression  in  vulgar  applause. 

"Oh,  Music  is  the  queen  of  the  arts !"  exclaimed  the  Mar- 
quise. 

"Camille  gives  the  first  place  to  youth  and  beauty — the 
queen  of  all  poetry,"  said  Claude  Vignon. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  looked  at  Claude,  dissembling  a 
vague  uneasiness.  Beatrix,  not  seeing  Calyste,  looked  round  to 
see  what  effect  the  music  had  had  on  him,  less  out  of  interest 
in  him  than  for  Conti's  satisfaction.  In  a  recess  she  saw  a  pale 
face  covered  with  tears.  At  the  sight  she  hastily  turned  away, 
as  if  some  acute  pain  had  stung  her,  and  looked  at  Gennaro. 

It  was  not  merely  that  Music  had  risen  up  before  Calyste, 
had  touched  him  with  her  divine  hand,  had  launched  him  on 
creation  and  stripped  it  of  its  mysteries  to  his  eyes — he  was 
overwhelmed  by  Conti's  genius.  In  spite  of  what  Camille 
Maupin  had  told  him  of  the  man's  character,  he  believed  at 
this  moment  that  the  singer  must  have  a  beautiful  soul,  a 
heart  full  of  love.  How  was  he  to  contend  against  such  an 
artist?  How  could  a  woman  ever  cease  to  adore  him?  The 
song  must  pierce  her  soul  like  another  soul. 

The  poor  boy  was  as  much  overcome  by  poetic  feeling  as  by 
despair :  he  saw  himself  as  so  small  a  thing !  This  ingenuous 
conviction  of  his  own  nothingness  was  to  be  read  in  his  face, 
mingling  with  his  admiration.  He  did  not  observe  Beatrix, 
who,  attracted  to  Calyste  by  the  contagion  of  genuine  feeling, 
pointed  him  out  by  a  glance  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

"Oh !  such  a  delightful  nature  !"  said  Felicite.  "Conti,  you 
will  never  receive  any  applause  to  compare  with  the  homage 
paid  you  by  this  boy.  Let  us  sing  a  trio. — Come,  Beatrix,  my 
dear/' 

When  the  Marquise,  Camille,  and  Conti  had  returned  to  the 
piano,  Calyste  rose  unperceived,  flung  himself  on  a  sofa  in  the 
adjoining  bedroom,  of  which  the  door  was  open,  and  remained 
there  sunk  in  despair. 


BEATRIX  123 


PAET  II 

THE    DRAMA 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  hoy?"  said  Claude  Vi- 
gnon,  stealing  quietly  in  after  him  and  taking  his  hand.  "You 
are  in  love,  you  believe  yourself  scorned ;  but  it  is  not  so.  In  a 
few  days  the  field  will  be  open  to  you,  you  will  be  supreme 
here,  and  be  loved  by  more  than  one  woman ;  in  fact,  if  you 
know  how  to  manage  matters,  you  will  be  a  Sultan  here." 

"What  are  you  saying?"  cried  Calyste,  starting  to  his  feet 
and  dragging  Claude  away  into  the  library.  "Who  that  is 
here  loves  me?" 

"Camille,"  said  Vignon. 

"Camille  loves  me  ?"  said  Calyste.    "And  what  of  you  ?" 

"I,"  said  Claude,  "I- 

He  paused.  Then  he  sat  down  and  rested  his  head  against 
a  pillow,  in  the  deepest  melancholy. 

"I  am  weary  of  life,"  he  went  on,  after  a  short  silence,  "and 
I  have  not  the  courage  to  end  it.  I  wish  I  were  mistaken  in 
what  I  have  told  you ;  but  within  the  last  few  days  more  than 
one  vivid  gleam  has  flashed  upon  me.  I  did  not  wander  about 
the  rocks  of  le  Croisic  for  my  amusement,  on  my  soul !  The 
bitterness  of  iny  tone  when,  on  my  return,  I  found  you  talking 
to  Camille,  had  its  source  in  the  depths  of  my  wounded  self- 
respect.  I  will  have  an  explanation  presently  with  Camille. 
Two  minds  so  clear-sighted  as  hers  and  mine  cannot  deceive 
each  other.  Between  two  professional  duelists  a  fight  is  soon 
ended.  So  I  may  at  once  announce  my  departure.  Yes,  I 
shall  leave  les  Touches,  to-morrow  perhaps,  with  Conti. 

"When  we  are  no  longer  here,  some  strange — perhaps  ter- 
rible— things  will  certainly  happen,  and  I  shall  be  sorry  not 


124  BEATRIX 

to  look  on  at  these  struggles  of  passion,  so  rare  in  France,  and 
so  dramatic ! — You  are  very  young  to  enter  on  so  perilous  a 
fight ;  I  am  interested  in  you.  But  for  the  deep  disgust  I  feel 
for  women,  I  would  stay  to  help  you  to  play  the  game;  it  is 
difficult ;  you  may  lose  it ;  you  have  two  remarkable  women  to 
deal  with,  and  you  are  already  too  much  in  love  with  one  to 
make  use  of  the  other. 

"Beatrix  must  surely  have  some  tenacity  in  her  nature,  and 
Camille  has  magnanimity.  You,  perhaps,  like  some  fragile 
and  brittle  thing,  will  be  dashed  between  the  two  rocks,  swept 
away  by  the  torrent  of  passion.  Take  care." 

Calyste's  amazement  on  hearing  these  words  allowed  Claude 
Vignon  to  finish  his  speech  and  leave  the  lad,  who  remained 
in  the  position  of  a  traveler  in  the  Alps  to  whom  his  guide  has 
proved  the  depth  of  an  abyss  by  dropping  a  stone  in. 

He  had  heard  from  Claude  himself  that  Camille  loved  him, 
Calyste,  at  the  moment  when  he  knew  that  his  love  for  Bea- 
trix would  end  only  with  his  life.  There  was  something  in 
the  situation  too  much  for  such  a  guileless  young  soul. 
Crushed  by  immense  regret  that  weighed  upon  him  for  the 
past,  killed  by  the  perplexities  of  the  present,  between  Beatrix, 
whom  he  loved,  and  Camille,  whom  he  no  longer  loved,  when 
Claude  said  that  she  loved  him,  the  poor  youth  was  desperate ; 
he  sat  undecided,  lost  in  thought.  He  vainly  sought  to  guess 
the  reasons  for  which  Felicite  had  rejected  his  devotion,  to  go 
to  Paris  and  accept  that  of  Claude  Vignon. 

Now  and  again  Madame  de  Eochefide's  voice  came  to  his 
ear,  pure  and  clear,  reviving  the  violent  excitement  from 
which  he  had  fled  in  leaving  the  drawing-room.  Several 
times  he  could  hardly  master  himself  so  far  as  to  restrain  a 
fierce  desire  to  seize  her  and  snatch  her  away. — What  would 
become  of  him?  Could  he  ever  come  again  to  les  Touches? 
Knowing  that  Camille  loved  him,  how  could  he  here  worship 
Beatrix  ? — He  could  find  no  issue  from  his  difficulties. 

Gradually  silence  fell  on  the  house.  Without  heeding  it,  he 
heard  the  shutting  of  doors.  Then  suddenly  he  counted  the 
twelve  strokes  of  midnight  told  by  the  clock  in  the  next  room, 


BEATRIX  125 

where  the  voices  of  Camille  and  Claude  now  roused  him  from 
the  numbing  contemplation  of  the  future.  A  light  shone  there 
amid  the  darkness.  Before  he  could  show  himself,  he  heard 
these  dreadful  words  spoken  by  Vignon. 

"You  came  back  from  Paris  madly  in  love  with  Calyste," 
he  was  saying  to  Felicite.  "But  you  were  appalled  at  the  con- 
sequences of  such  a  passion  at  your  age;  it  would  lead  you 
into  a  gulf,  a  hell — to  suicide  perhaps.  Love  can  exist  only 
in  the  belief  that  it  is  eternal,  and  you  could  foresee,  a  few 
paces  before  you  in  life,  a  terrible  parting — weariness  and  old 
age  putting  a  dreadful  end  to  a  beautiful  poem.  You  remem- 
ber Adolphe,  the  disastrous  termination  of  the  loves  of 
Madame  de  Stael  and  Benjamin  Constant,  who  were,  never- 
theless, much  better  matched  in  age  than  you  and  Calyste. 

"So,  then,  you  took  me,  as  men  take  fascines,  to  raise  an 
entrenchment  between  yourself  and  the  enemy.  But  while 
you  tried  to  attach  me  to  les  Touches,  was  it  not  that  you  might 
spend  your  days  in  secret  worship  of  your  divinity  ?  But  to 
carry  out  such  a  scheme,  at  once  unworthy  and  sublime,  you 
should  have  chosen  a  common  man,  or  a  man  so  absorbed  by 
lofty  thought  that  he  would  be  easily  deceived.  You  fancied 
that  I  was  simple,  and  as  easy  to  cheat  as  a  man  of  genius. 
I  am,  it  would  seem,  no  more  than  a  clever  man :  I  saw 
through  you.  When  yesterday  I  sang  the  praises  of  women  of 
your  age,  and  explained  to  you  why  Calyste  loved  you,  do  you 
suppose  that  I  thought  all  your  ecstatic  looks — brilliant,  en- 
chanting— were  meant  for  me  ?  Had  I  not  already  read  your 
soul?  The  eyes,  indeed,  were  fixed  on  mine,  but  the  heart 
throbbed  for  Calyste. — You  have  never  been  loved,  my  poor 
Maupin;  and  you  never  will  be  now,  after  denying  yourself 
the  beautiful  fruit  which  chance  put  in  your  way  at  the  very 
gates  of  woman's  hell,  which  must  close  at  the  touch  of  the 
figure  50." 

"And  why  has  love  always  avoided  me?"  she  asked,  in  a 
broken  voice.  "You  who  know  everything,  tell  me." 

"Why,  you  are  unamiable,"  said  he;  "you  will  not  yield  to 
love,  you  want  it  to  yield  to  you.  You  can  perhaps  be  led  into 


126  BEATRIX 

the  mischief  and  spirit  of  a  school-boy ;  but  you  have  no  youth 
of  heart,  your  mind  it  too  deep,  you  never  were  artless  and  you 
cannot  begin  now.  Your  charm  lies  in  mystery ;  it  is  abstract, 
and  not  practical.  And,  again,  your  power  repels  very  power- 
ful natures ;  they  dread  a  conflict.  Your  strength  may  attract 
young  souls,  which,  like  Calyste's,  love  to  feel  protected;  but, 
in  the  long  run,  it  is  fatiguing.  You  are  superior,  sublime ! 
You  must  accept  the  disadvantages  of  these  two  qualities; 
they  are  wearisome." 

"What  a  verdict !"  cried  Camille.  "Can  I  never  be  a  woman  ? 
Am  I  a  monster?" 

"Possibly,"  said  Claude. 

"We  shall  see,"  cried  the  woman,  stung  to  the  quick. 

"Good-night,  my  dear.  I  leave  to-morrow. — I  owe  you  no 
grudge,  Camille ;  I  think  you  the  greatest  of  women ;  but  if  I 
should  consent  to  play  the  part  any  longer  of  a  screen  or  a 
curtain,"  said  Claude,  with  too  marked  inflections  of  his 
voice,  "you  would  despise  me  utterly.  We  can  part  now  with- 
out grief  or  remorse;  we  have  no  happiness  to  mourn  for,  no 
hopes  to  disappoint. 

"To  you,  as  to  some  infinitely  rare  men  of  genius,  love  is  not 
what  Nature  made  it — a  vehement  necessity,  with  acute  but 
transient  delights  attached  to  its  satisfaction,  and  then  death ; 
you  regard  it  as  what  Christianity  has  made  it:  an  ideal 
realm  full  of  noble  sentiments,  of  immense  small  things,  of 
poetry  and  spiritual  sensations,  of  sacrifices,  flowers  of  mor- 
ality, enchanting  harmonies,  placed  far  above  all  vulgar  gross- 
ness,  but  whither  two  beings  joined  to  be  one  angel  are  carried 
up  on  the  wings  of  pleasure.  This  was  what  I  hoped  for;  I 
thought  I  held  one  of  the  keys  which  open  the  door  that  is 
shut  to  so  many  persons,  and  through  which  we  soar  into  in- 
finitude. You  were  there  already !  And  so  I  was  deceived. 

"1  am  going  back  to  misery  in  my  vast  prison,  Paris.  Such 
a  deception  at  the  beginning  of  my  career  would  have  been 
enough  to  make  me  flee  from  woman;  now,  it  fills  my  soul 
with  such  disenchantment  as  casts  me  for  ever  into  appalling 
solitude;  I  shall  be  destitute  even  of  the  faith  which  helped 


BEATRIX  127 

the  Holy  Fathers  to  people  it  with  sacred  visions. — This,  my 
dear  Camille,  is  what  a  superior  nature  brings  us  to.  We 
may  each  of  us  sing  the  terrible  chant  that  a  poet  has  put  into 
the  mouth  of  Moses  addressing  the  Almighty : 

"O  Lord!  Thou  hast  made  me  powerful  and  alone!" 

At  this  moment  Calyste  came  in. 

"I  ought  to  let  you  know  that  I  am  here,"  said  he. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  looked  absolutely  terrified;  a 
sudden  color  flushed  her  calm  features  with  a  fiery  red.  All 
through  the  scene  she  was  handsomer  than  she  had  ever  been 
in  her  life. 

"We  thought  you  had  gone,  Calyste,"  said  Claude;  "but 
this  involuntary  indiscretion  on  both  sides  will  have  done  no 
harm ;  perhaps  you  will  feel  more  free  at  les  Touches  now  that 
you  know  Felicite  so  completely.  Her  silence  shows  me  that  I 
was  not  mistaken  as  to  the  part  she  intended  that  I  should 
play.  She  loves  you,  as  I  told  you;  but  she  loves  you  for 
yourself,  and  not  for  herself — a  feeling  which  few  women 
are  fitted  to  conceive  of  or  to  cling  to :  very  few  of  them  know 
the  delights  of  pain  kept  alive  by  desire.  It  is  one  of  the 
grander  passions  reserved  for  men ; — but  she  is  somewhat  of  a 
man,"  he  added,  with  a  smile.  "Your  passion  for  Beatrix  will 
torture  her  and  make  her  happy,  both  at  once." 

Tears  rose  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  eyes;  she  dared 
not  look  either  at  the  merciless  Claude  or  the  ingenuous 
Calyste.  She  was  frightened  at  having  been  understood;  she 
had  not  supposed  that  any  man,  whatever  his  gifts,  could  di- 
vine such  a  torment  of  refined  feeling,  such  lofty  heroism  as 
hers.  And  Calyste,  seeing  her  so  humiliated  at  finding  her 
magnanimity  betrayed,  sympathized  with  the  agitation  of  the 
woman  he  had  placed  so  high,  and  whom  he  beheld  so  stricken. 
By  an  irresistible  impulse,  he  fell  at  Camille's  feet  and  kissed 
her  hands,  hiding  his  tear-washed  face  in  them. 

"Claude !"  she  cried,  "do  not  desert  me ;  what  will  become 
of  me?" 


128  BEATRIX 

"What  have  you  to  fear?"  replied  the  critic.  "Calyste  al- 
ready loves  the  Marquise  like  a  madman.  You  can  certainly 
have  no  stronger  barrier  between  him  and  yourself  than  this 
passion  fanned  into  life  by  your  own  act.  It  is  quite  as  effec- 
tual as  I  could  be.  Yesterday  there  was  danger  for  you  and 
for  him ;  but  to-day  everything  will  give  you  maternal  joys/' 
and  he  gave  her  a  mocking  glance.  "You  will  be  proud  of  his 
triumphs." 

Felicite  looked  at  Calyste,  who,  at  these  words,  raised  his 
head  with  a  hasty  movement.  Claude  Vignon  was  sufficiently 
revenged  by  the  pleasure  he  took  in  seeing  their  confusion. 

"You  pushed  him  towards  Madame  de  Kochefide,"  Vignon 
went  on ;  "he  is  now  under  the  spell.  You  have  dug  your  own 
grave.  If  you  had  but  trusted  yourself  to  me,  you  would  have 
avoided  the  disasters  that  await  you." 

"Disasters !"  cried  Camille  Maupin,  raising  Calyste's  head 
to  the  level  of  her  own,  kissing  his  hair,  and  wetting  it  with 
her  tears.  "No,  Calyste.  Forget  all  you  have  just  heard,  and 
count  me  for  nothing !" 

She  stood  up  in  front  of  the  two  men,  drawn  to  her  full 
height,  quelling  them  by  the  lightnings  that  flashed  from  her 
eyes  in  which  all  her  soul  shone. 

"While  Claude  was  speaking,"  she  went  on,  "I  saw  all  the 
beauty,  the  dignity  of  hopeless  love;  is  it  not  the  only  senti- 
ment that  brings  us  near  to  God? — Do  not  love  me,  Calyste; 
but  I — I  will  love  you  as  no  other  woman  can  ever  love !" 

It  was  the  wildest  cry  that  ever  a  wounded  eagle  sent  out 
from  his  eyrie.  Claude,  on  one  knee,  took  her  hand'  and 
kissed  it. 

"Now  go,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to 
Calyste;  "your  mother  may  be  uneasy." 

Calyste  returned  to  Guerande  at  a  leisurely  pace,  turning 
round  to  see  the  light  which  shone  from  the  windows  of  Bea- 
trix's rooms.  He  was  himself  surprised  that  he  felt  so  little 
pity  for  Camille ;  he  was  almost  annoyed  with  her  for  having 
deprived  him  of  fifteen  raonths  of  happiness.  And  again,  now 


BEATRIX  129 

and  then,  he  felt  the  same  thrill  in  himself  that  Camille  had 
just  caused  him,  he  felt  the  tears  she  had  shed  on  his  hair,  he 
suffered  in  her  suffering,  he  fancied  he  could  hear  the  moans 
— for,  no  doubt,  she  was  moaning — of  this  wonderful  woman 
for  whom  he  had  so  longed  a  few  days  since. 

As  he  opened  the  courtyard  gate  at  home,  where  all  was 
silent,  he  saw  through  the  window  his  mother  working  by  the 
primitive  lamp  while  waiting  for  him.  Tears  rose  to  his  eyes 
at  the  sight. 

"What  more  has  happened  ?"  asked  Fanny,  her  face  expres- 
sive of  terrible  anxiety.  Calyste's  only  reply  was  to  clasp  his 
mother  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her  cheeks,  her  forehead,  her  hair, 
with  the  passionate  effusion  which  delights  a  mother,  infusing 
into  her  the  subtle  fires  of  the  life  she  gave. 

"It  is  you  that  I  love !"  said  Calyste  to  his  mother,  blush- 
ing, and  almost  shamefaced;  "you  who  live  for  me  alone, 
whom  I  would  fain  make  happy." 

"But  you  are  not  in  your  usual  frame  of  mind,  my  child," 
said  the  Baroness,  looking  at  her  son.  "What  has  happened  ?" 

"Camille  loves  me,"  said  he ;  "and  I  no  longer  love  her." 

The  Baroness  drew  him  towards  her  and  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead,  and  in  the  deep  silence  of  the  gloomy  old  tapestried 
room  he  could  hear  the  rapid  beating  of  his  mother's  heart. 
The  Irishwoman  was  jealous  of  Camille,  and  had  suspected 
the  truth.  While  awaiting  her  son  night  after  night  she  had 
studied  that  woman's  passion;  led  by  the  light  of  persistent 
meditation,  she  had  entered  into  Camille's  heart ;  and  without 
being  able  to  account  for  it,  she  had  understood  that  in  that 
unwedded  soul  there  Avas  a  sort  of  motherly  affection. 
Calyste's  story  horrified  this  simple  and  guiless  mother. 

"Well,"  said  she,  after  a  pause,  "love  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide  ;  she  will  cause  me  no  sorrow." 

Beatrix  was  not  free ;  she  could  not  upset  any  of  the  plans 
they  had  made  for  Calyste's  happiness,  at  least  so  Fanny 
thought ;  she  saw  in  her  a  sort  of  daughter-in-law  to  love,  and 
not  a  rival  mother  to  contend  with. 

"But  Beatrix  will  never  love  me !"  cried  Calyste. 


130  BEATRIX 

"Perhaps,"  replied  the  Baroness,  with  a  knowing  air.  "Did 
you  not  say  that  she  is  to  be  alone  to-morrow  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  my  child,"  said  the  mother,  coloring,  "jealousy  lurks 
in  all  our  hearts,  but  I  did  not  know  that  I  should  ever  find 
it  at  the  bottom  of  my  own,  for  I  did  not  think  that  any  one 
would  try  to  rob  me  of  my  Calyste's  affection !"  She  sighed. 
"I  fancied,"  she  went  on,  "that  marriage  would  be  to  you 
what  it  was  to  me.  What  lights  you  have  thrown  on  my  mind 
during  these  two  months !  What  colors  are  reflected  on  your 
very  natural  passion,  my  poor  darling ! — Well,  still  seem  to 
love  your  Mademoiselle  des  Touches;  the  Marquise  will  be 
jealous  of  her,  and  will  be  yours." 

"Oh,  my  sweet  mother,  Camille  would  never  have  told  me 
that !"  cried  Calyste,  taking  his  mother  by  the  waist,  and  kiss- 
ing her  in  the  neck. 

"You  make  me  very  wicked,  you  bad  child,"  said  she,  quite 
happy  at  seeing  the  beaming  face  hope  gave  to  her  son,  who 
gaily  went  up  the  winding  stairs. 

Next  morning  Calyste  desired  Gasselin  to  stand  on  the  road 
from  Guerande  to  Saint-Nazaire,  and  watch  for  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches'  carriage;  then,  as  it  went  past,  he  was  to  count 
the  persons  in  it. 

Gasselin  returned  just  as  the  family  had  sat  down  together 
at  breakfast. 

"What  can  have  happened  ?"  said  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic ; 
"Gasselin  is  running  as  if  Guerande  were  burning." 

"He  must  have  caught  the  rat,"  said  Mariotte,  who  was 
bringing  in  the  coffee,  milk,  and  toast. 

"He  is  coming  from  the  town  and  not  from  the  garden,"  re- 
plied the  blind  woman. 

"But  the  rat's  hole  is  behind  the  wall  to  the  front  by  the 
street,"  said  Mariotte. 

"Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  there  were  five  of  them;  four  in- 
side and  the  coachman." 

"Two  ladies  on  the  back  seat  ?"  asked  Calyste. 

"And  two  gentlemen  in  front,"  replied  Gasselin. 


BEATRIX  131 

"Saddle  my  father's  horse,  ride  after  them;  be  at  Saint- 
Xazaire  by  the  time  the  boat  starts  for  Paimbceuf ;  and  if  the 
two  men  go  on  board,  come  back  and  tell  me  as  fast  as  you  can 
gallop." 

Gasselin  went. 

"Why,  nephew,  you  have  the  very  devil  in  you !"  exclaimed 
old  aunt  Zephirine. 

"Let  him  please  himself,  sister,"  cried  the  Baron.  "He  was 
as  gloomy  as  an  owl,  and  now  he  is  as  merry  as  a  lark." 

"Perhaps  you  told  him  that  our  dear  Charlotte  was  com- 
ing," said  the  old  lady,  turning  to  her  sister-in-law. 

"No,"  replied  the  Baroness. 

"I  thought  he  might  wish  to  go  to  meet  her,"  said  Made- 
moiselle du  Guenic  slily. 

"If  Charlotte  is  to  stay  three  months  with  her  aunt,  he  has 
time  enough  to  see  her  in,"  replied  the  Baroness. 

"Why,  sister,  what  has  occurred  since  yesterday?"  asked 
the  old  lady.  "You  were  so  delighted  to  think  that  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel  was  going  this  morning  to  fetch  her 
niece." 

"Jacquelin  wants  me  to  marry  Charlotte  to  snatch  me  from 
perdition,  aunt,"  said  Calyste,  laughing,  and  giving  his 
mother  a  look  of  intelligence.  "I  was  on  the  Mall  this  morn- 
ing when  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  was  talking  to  Monsieur 
du  Halga;  she  did  not  reflect  that  it  would  be  far  worse 
perdition  for  me  to  be  married  at  my  age." 

"It  is  written  above,"  cried  the  old  aunt,  interrupting 
Calyste,  "that  I  am  to  die  neither  happy  nor  at  peace.  I 
should  have  liked  to  see  our  family  continued,  and  some  of 
our  lands  redeemed — but  nothing  of  the  kind!  Can  you, 
my  fine  nephew,  put  anything  in  the  scale  to  outweigh  such 
duties  as  these?" 

"Why,"  said  the  Baron,  "can  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
hinder  Calyste  from  marrying  in  due  course?  I  must  go  to 
see  her." 

"I  can  assure  you,  father,  that  Felicite  will  never  be  an 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  my  marriage." 


132  BEATRIX 

"I  cannot  make  head  or  tail  of  it !"  said  the  blind  woman, 
who  knew  nothing  of  her  nephew's  sudden  passion  for  the 
Marquise  de  Eochefide. 

The  mother  kept  her  son's  secret;  in  such  matters  silence 
is  instinctive  in  all  women.  The  old  aunt  sank  into  deep 
meditation,  listening  with  all  her  might,  spying  every  voice, 
every  sound,  to  guess  the  mystery  they  were  keeping  from  her. 

Gasselin  soon  returned,  and  told  his  young  master  that 
he  had  not  needed  to  go  so  far  as  Saint-lsTazaire  to  learn 
that  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and  the  lady  would  return 
alone ;  he  had  heard  it  in  the  town,  from  Bernus,  the  carrier, 
who  had  taken  charge  of  the  gentlemen's  baggage. 

"They  will  come  back  alone?"  said  Calyste.  "Bring  out 
my  horse." 

Gasselin  supposed  from  his  young  master's  voice  that  there 
was  something  serious  on  hand;  he  saddled  both  the  horses, 
loaded  the  pistols  without  saying  anything,  and  dressed  to 
ride  out  with  Calyste.  Calyste  was  so  delighted  to  know  that 
Claude  and  Gennaro  were  gone,  that  he  never  thought  of  the 
party  he  would  meet  at  Saint-Nazaire ;  he  thought  only  of 
the  pleasure  of  escorting  the  Marquise.  He  took  his  old 
father's  hands  and  pressed  them  affectionately,  he  kissed  his 
mother,  and  put  his  arm  round  his  old  aunt's  waist. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  I  like  him  better  thus  than  when  he 
is  sad,"  said  old  Zephirine. 

"Where  are  you  off  to,  Chevalier?"  asked  his  father. 

"To  Saint-Nazaire." 

"The  deuce  you  are!  And  when  is  the  wedding  to  be?" 
said  the  Baron,  who  thought  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  see  Char- 
lotte de  Kergarouet.  "I  should  like  to  be  a  grandfather;  it 
is  high  time." 

When  Gasselin  showed  his  evident  intention  of  riding  out 
with  Calyste,  it  occurred  to  the  young  man  that  he  might 
return  in  Camille's  carriage  with  Beatrix,  leaving  his  horse 
in  Gasselin's  care,  and  he  clapped  the  man  on  the  shoulder, 
saying : 

"That  was  well  thought  of." 


BEATRIX  133 

"So  I  should  think,"  replied  Gasselin. 

"Spare  the  horses,  my  boy/'  said  his  father,  coining  out 
on  the  steps  with  Fanny;  "they  have  twelve  leagues  before 
them." 

Calyste  exchanged  looks  full  of  meaning  with  his  mother, 
and  was  gone. 

"Dearest  treasure!"  said  she,  seeing  him  bend  his  head 
under  the  top  of  the  gate. 

"God  preserve  him !"  replied  the  Baron,  "for  we  shall  never 
make  another." 

This  little  speech,  in  the  rather  coarse  taste  of  a  country 
gentleman,  made  the  Baroness  shiver. 

"My  nephew  is  not  so  much  in  love  with  Charlotte  as  to 
rush  to  meet  her,"  said  old  Mademoiselle  to  Mariotte,  who 
was  clearing  the  table. 

"Oh,  a  fine  lady  has  come  to  les  Touches,  a  Marquise,  and 
he  is  running  after  her.  Well,  well,  he  is  young !"  said  Mari- 
otte. 

"Those  women  will  be  the  death  of  him,"  said  Mademoiselle 
du  Guenic. 

"That  won't  kill  him,  mademoiselle,  quite  the  contrary," 
replied  Mariotte,  who  seemed  quite  happy  in  Calyste's  hap- 
piness. 

Calyste  was  riding  at  a  pace  that  might  have  killed  his 
horse,  when  Gasselin  very  happily  asked  his  master  whether 
he  wished  to  arrive  before  the  departure  of  the  boat;  this 
was  by  no  means  his  purpose;  he  had  no  wish  to  be  seen  by 
either  Conti  or  Vignon.  The  young  man  reined  in  his  horse 
and  looked  complacently  at  the  double  furrow  traced  by  the 
wheels  of  the  carriage  on  the  sandy  parts  of  the  road.  He 
was  wildly  gay  merely  at  the  thought :  "She  passed  this  way ; 
she  will  come  back  this  way ;  her  eyes  rested  on  those  woods, 
on  these  trees !" 

"What  a  pretty  road !"  said  he  to  Gasselin. 

"Yes,  sir,  Brittany  is  the  finest  country  in  the  world,"  re- 
plied the  servant.  "Are  there  such  flowers  in  the  hedges,  or 
green  lanes  that  wind  like  this  one,  anywhere  else  to  be 
found?" 


134  BEATRIX 

"Nowhere,  Gasselin." 

"Here  comes  Bernus'  carriage/'  said  Gasselin. 

"Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  will  be  in  it  with  her  niece; 
let  us  hide,"  said  Calyste. 

"Hide  here,  sir !  are  you  crazy  ?  We  are  in  the  midst  of 
the  sands." 

The  carriage,  which  was  in  fact  crawling  up  a  sandy  hill 
above  Saint-Nazaire,  presently  appeared,  in  all  the  artless 
simplicity  of  rude  Breton  construction.  To  Calyste's  great 
astonishment  the  conveyance  was  full. 

"We  have  left  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  and  her  sister 
and  her  niece  in  a  great  pother,"  said  the  driver  to  Gasselin; 
"all  the  places  had  been  taken  by  the  custom-house." 

"I  am  done  for!"  cried  Calyste.  The  vehicle  was  in  fact 
full  of  custom-house  men  on  their  way,  no  doubt,  to  relieve 
those  in  charge  at  the  salt-marshes. 

When  Calyste  reached  the  little  esplanade  surrounding  the 
Church  of  Saint-Nazaire,  whence  there  is  a  view  of  Paim- 
bceuf  and  of  the  majestic  estuary  of  the  Loire  where  it  strug- 
gles with  the  tide,  he  found  Camille  and  the  Marquise  waiv- 
ing their  handkerchiefs  to  bid  a  last  farewell  to  the  two 
passengers  borne  away  by  the  steam  packet.  Beatrix  was 
quite  bewitching,  her  face  tenderly  shaded  by  the  reflection 
from  a  rice-straw  hat  on  which  poppies  were  lightly  piled, 
tied  by  a  scarlet  ribbon;  in  a  flowered  muslin  dress,  one 
little,  slender  foot  put  forward  in  a  green  gaitered  shoe,  lean- 
ing on  her  slight  parasol-stick,  and  waving  her  well-gloved 
hand.  Nothing  is  more  strikingly  effective  than  a  woman 
on  a  rock,  like  a  statue  on  its  pedestal. 

Conti  could  see  Calyste  go  up  to  Camille. 

"I  thought,"  said  the  youth  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
"that  you  two  ladies  would  be  returning  alone." 

"That  was  very  nice  of  you,  Calyste,"  she  replied,  tak- 
ing his  hand.  Beatrix  looked  round,  glanced  at  her  young 
adorer,  and  gave  him  the  most  imperious  flash  at  her  com- 
mand. A  smile  that  the  Marquise  caught  on  Camille's  elo- 
quent lips  made  her  feel  the  vulgarity  of  this  impulse,  worthy 


BEATRIX  135 

of  a  mere  lourgeoise.  Madame  de  Eochefide  then  said  with 
a  smile  to  Calyste: 

"And  was  it  not  rather  impertinent  to  suppose  that  I 
could  bore  Camille  on  the  way  ?" 

"My  dear,  one  man  for  two  widows  is  not  much  in  the 
way/7  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  taking  Calyste's  arm, 
and  leaving  Beatrix  to  gaze  after  the  boat. 

At  this  instant  Calyste  heard  in  the  street  of  what  must 
be  called  the  port  of  Saint-Nazaire  the  voices  of  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel,  Charlotte,  and  Gasselin,  all  three  chat- 
tering like  magpies.  The  old  maid  was  catechising  Gasselin, 
and  wanted  to  know  what  had  brought  him  and  his  master 
to  Saint-lsTazaire ;  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  carriage  had 
made  a  commotion. 

Before  the  lad  could  escape,  Charlotte  had  caught  sight  of 
him. 

"There  is  Calyste !"  cried  the  girl. 

"Go  and  offer  them  my  carriage;  their  woman  can  sit  by 
my  coachman,"  said  Camille,  who  knew  that  Madame  de 
Kergarouet,  with  her  daughter  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel,  had  failed  to  get  places. 

Calyste,  who  could  not  avoid  obeying  Camille,  went  to  de- 
liver this  message.  As  soon  as  she  knew  that  she  would  have 
to  ride  with  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide  and  the  famous  Ca- 
mille Maupin,  Madame  de  Kergarouet  ignored  her  elder  sis- 
ter's objections;  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  refused  to  avail 
herself  of  what  she  called  the  devil's  chariot.  At  Nantes, 
people  lived  in  rather  more  civilized  latitudes  than  at  Gue- 
rande;  Camille  was  admired;  she  was  regarded  as  the  Muse 
of  Brittany  and  an  honor  to  the  country;  she  excited  as 
much  curiosity  as  jealousy.  The  absolution  granted  her  in 
Paris  by  the  fashionable  world  was  consecrated  by  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches'  fine  fortune,  and  perhaps  by  her  former 
successes  at  Nantes,  which  was  proud  of  having  been  the 
birthplace  of  Camille  Maupin. 

So  the  Viscountess,  crazy  with  curiosity,  dragged  away  her 
old  sister,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  her  jeremiads. 


136  BEATRIX 

"Good-morning,  Calyste,"  said  little  Charlotte. 

"Good-morning,  Charlotte,"  replied  Calyste,  but  he  did 
not  offer  her  his  arm. 

Both  speechless  with  surprise,  she  at  his  coldness,  he  at 
his  own  cruelty,  they  went  up  the  hollow  ravine  that  is  called 
a  street  at  Saint-Nazaire,  following  the  two  sisters  in  si- 
lence. In  an  instant  the  girl  of  sixteen  saw  the  castle  in  the 
air  which  her  romantic  hopes  had  built  and  furnished  crumble 
into  ruins.  She  and  Calyste  had  so  constantly  played  to- 
gether during  their  childhood,  they  had  been  so  intimately 
connected,  that  she  imagined  her  future  life  secure.  She  had 
hurried  on,  carried  away  by  heedless  happiness,  like  a  bird 
rushing  down  on  a  field  of  wheat;  she  was  checked  in  her 
flight  without  being  able  to  imagine  what  the  obstacle 
could  be. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Calyste  ?"  she  asked,  taking  his  hand. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied,  withdrawing  his  hand  with  terrible 
haste  as  he  thought  of  his  aunt's  schemes  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-HoeTs. 

Tears  filled  Charlotte's  eyes.  She  looked  at  the  handsome 
youth  without  animosity;  but  she  was  to  feel  the  first  pangs 
of  jealousy  and  know  the  dreadful  rage  of  rivalry  at  the 
sight  of  the  two  Parisian  beauties,  which  led  her  to  suspect 
the  cause  of  Calyste's  coldness. 

Charlotte  de  Kergarouet  was  of  middle  height;  she  had 
rustic,  rosy  cheeks,  a  round  face  with  wide-awake  black  eyes 
that  affected  intelligence,  a  quantity  of  brown  hair,  a  round 
waist,  flat  back,  and  thin  arms,  and  the  crisp,  decided  tone 
of  speech  adopted  by  country-bred  girls  who  do  not  wish  to 
seem  simpletons.  She  was  the  spoilt  child  of  the  family  in 
consequence  of  her  aunt's  preference  for  her.  At  this  mo- 
ment she  was  wearing  the  plaid  tweed  cloak  lined  with  green 
silk  that  she  had  put  on  for  the  passage  in  the  steamboat. 
Her  traveling  gown  of  cheap  stuff,  with  a  chaste  gathered 
body  and  a  finely  pleated  collar,  would  presently  strike  her  as 
being  hideous  in  comparison  with  the  fresh  morning  dress 
from  by  Beatrix  and  Camille.  She  would  be  painfully  con- 


BEATRIX  137 

scious  of  stockings  soiled  on  the  rocks  and  the  boats  she  had 
jumped  into,  of  old  leather  shoes,  chosen  especially  that  there 
might  be  nothing  good  to  spoil  on  the  journey,  as  is  the 
manner  and  custom  of  provincial  folk. 

As  to  the  Vicomtesse  de  Kergarouet,  she  was  typically 
provincial.  Tall,  lean,  faded,  full  of  covert  pretentiousness 
which  only  showed  when  it  was  wounded,  a  great  talker,  and 
by  dint  of  talk  picking  up  a  few  ideas  as  a  billiard-player 
makes  a  cannon,  which  gave  her  a  reputation  for  brilliancy; 
trying  to  snub  Parisians  by  a  display  of  blunt  country  shrewd- 
ness, and  an  assumption  of  perfect  contentment  constantly 
paraded;  stooping  in  the  hope  of  being  picked  up  and  furi- 
ous at  being  left  on  her  knees;  fishing  for  compliments,  as 
the  English  have  it,  and  not  always  catching  them;  dress- 
ing in  a  style  at  once  exaggerated  and  slatternly;  fancying 
that  a  lack  of  politeness  was  lofty  impertinence,  and  that 
she  could  distress  people  greatly  by  paying  them  no  attention ; 
refusing  things  she  wished  for  to  have  them  offered  a  second 
time  and  pressed  on  her  beyond  reason ;  her  head  full  of  ex- 
tinct subjects,  and  much  astonished  to  find  herself  behind 
the  times;  finally,  hardly  able  to  abstain  for  one  hour  from 
dragging  in  Nantes,  and  the  small  lions  of  Nantes,  and  the 
gossip  of  the  upper  ten  of  Nantes;  complaining  of  Nantes 
and  criticising  Nantes,  and  then  regarding  as  a  personal  af- 
front the  concurrence  extorted  from  the  politeness  of  those 
who  rashly  agreed  with  all  she  said. 

Her  manners,  her  speech,  and  her  ideas  had  to  some  extent 
rubbed  off  on  her  four  daughters. 

To  meet  Camille  Maupin  and  Madame  de  Rochefide! 
Here  was  fame  for  the  future,  and  matter  for  a  hundred 
conversations !  She  marched  on  the  church  as  if  to  take  it 
by  storm,  flourishing  her  handkerchief,  which  she  unfolded 
to  show  the  corners  ponderously  embroidered  at  home,  and 
trimmed  with  worn-out  lace.  She  had  a  rather  stalwart  gait, 
which  did  not  matter  in  a  woman  of  seven-and-forty. 

"Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  said  she,  and  she  pointed  to  Ca- 
lyste,  who  was  following  sulkily  enough  with  Charlotte,  "has 


138  BEATRIX 

informed  us  of  your  amiable  offer;  but  my  sister,  my  daugh- 
ter, and  I  fear  we  shall  incommode  you." 

"Not  I,  sister;  I  shall  not  inconvenience  these  ladies,"  said 
the  old  maid  sharply.  "I  can  surely  find  a  horse  in  Saint- 
Nazaire  to  carry  me  home." 

Camille  and  Beatrix  exchanged  sidelong  looks  which  Ca- 
lyste  noted,  and  that  glance  was  enough  to  annihilate  every 
memory  of  his  youth,  all  Lis  belief  in  the  Kergarouet-Pen- 
Hoels,  and  to  wreck  for  ever  the  schemes  laid  by  the  two 
families. 

"Five  can  sit  quite  easily  in  the  carriage,"  replied  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  on  whom  Jacqueline  had  turned  her 
back.  "Even  if  we  were  horribly  squeezed,  which  is  impos- 
sible, as  you  are  all  so  slight,  I  should  be  amply  compensated 
by  the  pleasure  of  doing  a  service  to  friends  of  Calyste's. 
Your  maid,  madame,  will  find  a  seat;  and  your  bundles,  if 
you  have  any,  can  be  put  in  the  rumble;  I  have  no  servant 
with  me." 

The  Viscountess  was  profusely  grateful,  and  blamed  her 
sister  Jacqueline,  who  had  been  in  such  a  hurry  for  her  niece 
that  she  would  not  give  her  time  to  travel  by  land  in  their 
carriage;  to  be  sure,  the  post  road  was  not  only  longer,  but 
expensive;  she  must  return  immediately  to  Nantes,  where 
she  had  left  three  more  little  kittens  eager  to  have  her  back 
again — and  she  stroked  her  daughter's  chin.  But  Charlotte 
put  on  a  little  victimized  air  as  she  looked  up  at  her  mother, 
which,  made  it  seem  likely  that  the  Viscountess  bored  her 
four  daughters  most  consumedly  by  trotting  them  out  as. 
persistently  as,  in  Tristram  Shandy,  Corporal  Trim  puts  his 
cap  on. 

"You  are  a  happy  mother,  and  you  must "  Camille 

began;  but  she  broke  off,  remembering  that  Beatrix  must 
have  deserted  her  boy  to  follow  Conti. 

"Oh!"  said  the  Viscountess,  "though  it  is  my  misfortune 
to  spend  my  life  in  the  country  and  at  Nantes,  I  have  the 
comfort  of  knowing  that  my  children  adore  me.  Have  yov 
any  children?"  she  asked  Camille. 


BEATRIX  139 

"I  am  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,"  replied  Camille.  "Mad- 
ame is  the  Marquise  de  Kochefide." 

"Then  you  are  to  be  pitied  for  not  knowing  the  greatest 
happiness  we  poor  mere  women  can  have.  Is  it  not  so,  mad- 
ame  ?"  said  she  to  the  Marquise,  to  remedy  her  blunder.  "But 
you  have  many  compensations." 

A  hot  tear  welled  up  in  Beatrix's  eyes ;  she  turned  hastily 
away  and  went  to  the  clumsy  parapet  at  the  edge  of  the  rock, 
whither  Calyste  followed  her. 

"Madame,"  said  Camille  in  a  low  voice  to  Madame  de  Ker- 
garouet,  "do  you  not  know  that  the  Marquise  is  separated 
from  her  husband,  that  she  has  not  seen  her  son  for  two 
years,  and  does  not  know  when  they  may  meet  again  ?" 

"Dear!"  cried  Madame  de  Kergarouet.  "Poor  lady!  Is 
it  a  judicial  separation?" 

"No,  incompatability,"  said  Camille. 

"I  can  quite  understand  that,"  replied  the  Viscountess,  un- 
daunted. 

Old  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had  entrenched  herself  a 
few  yards  off'  with  her  dear  Charlotte.  Calyste,  after  assur- 
ing himself  that  no  one  could  see  them,  took  the  Marquise's 
hand  and  kissed  it,  leaving  a  tear  on  it.  Beatrix  turned  on 
him,  her  eyes  dried  by  anger;  some  cruel  word  was  on  her 
tongue,  but  she  could  say  nothing  as  she  saw  the  tears  on  the 
beautiful  face  of  the  angelic  youth,  as  deeply  moved  as  she 
was. 

"Good  heavens,  Calyste !"  said  Camille,  in  a  whisper,  as 
he  rejoined  them  with  Madame  de  Eochefide,  "you  will  have 
that  for  a  mother-in-law,  and  that  little  gaby  for  your  wife." 

"Because  her  aunt  is  rich,"  added  Calyste,  sarcastically. 

The  whole  party  now  moved  towards  the  inn,  and  the  Vis- 
countess thought  it  incumbent  on  her  to  make  some  satirical 
remarks  to  Camille  on  the  savages  of  Saint-Nazaire. 

"I  love  Brittany,  madame,"  replied  Felicite,  gravely.  "I 
was  born  at  Guerande." 

Calyste  could  not  help  admiring  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
who,  by  the  tones  of  her  voice,  her  steady  gaze,  and  placid 


140  BEATRIX 

manners,  put  him  at  his  ease,  notwithstanding  the  terrible 
confessions  of  the  scene  that  had  taken  place  last  night.  Still, 
she  looked  tired;  her  features  betrayed  that  she  had  not 
slept;  they  looked  thickened,  but  the  forehead  suppressed 
the  internal  storm  with  relentless  calm. 

"What  queens!"  said  he  to  Charlotte,  pointing  to  Beatrix 
and  Camille,  as  he  gave  the  girl  his  arm,  to  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-HoeTs  great  satisfaction. 

"What  notion  was  this  of  your  mother's,"  said  the  old  lady, 
also  giving  a  lean  arm  to  her  niece,  "to  throw  us  into  the 
company  of  this  wretched  woman?" 

"Oh,  aunt !  a  woman  who  is  the  glory  of  Brittany." 

"The  disgrace,  child ! — Do  not  let  me  see  you  too  cringing 
to  her." 

"Mademoiselle,  Charlotte  is  right,"  said  Calyste;  "you  are 
unjust." 

"Oh,  she  has  bewitched  you !"  retorted  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel. 

"I  have  the  same  friendship  for  her  that  I  have  for  you," 
said  Calyste. 

"How  long  have  the  du  Guenics  taken  to  lying?"  said  the 
old  woman. 

"Since  the  Pen-Hoels  took  to  being  deaf,"  retorted  Calyste. 

"Then  you  are  not  in  love  with  her?"  asked  the  aunt,  de- 
lighted. 

"I  was,  but  I  am  no  longer,"  he  replied. 

"Bad  boy !  Then  why  have  you  given  us  so  much  anxiety  ? 
I  knew  that  love  was  but  a  folly;  only  marriage  is  to  be  re- 
lied on,"  said  she,  looking  at  Charlotte. 

Charlotte,  somewhat  reassured,  hoped  to  reconquer  her  ad- 
vantages by  an  appeal  to  the  memories  of  their  childhood,  and 
clung  to  Calyste's  arm;  but  he  vowed  to  himself  that  he 
would  come  to  a  clear  understanding  with  the  little  heiress. 

"Oh,  what  famous  games  of  mouche  we  will  have,  Calyste," 
said  she,  "and  what  capital  fun !" 

The  horses  were  put  in ;  Camille  made  the  Viscountess 
and  Charlotte  take  the  best  seats,  for  Jacqueline  had  disap- 


BEATRIX  141 

peared;  then  she  and  the  Marquise  sat  with  their  backs  to 
the  horses.  Calyste,  forced  to  give  up  the  pleasure  he  had 
promised  himself,  rode  at  the  side  of  the  carriage;  and  the 
horses,  all  tired,  went  slowly  enough  to  allow  of  his  gazing  at 
Beatrix. 

History  has  kept  no  record  of  the  singular  conversation  of 
these  four  persons,  so  strangely  thrown  together  by  chance 
in  this  carriage;  for  it  is  impossible  to  accept  the  hundred 
and  something  versions  which  were  current  at  Nantes  as  to 
the  stories,  the  repartees,  and  the  witticisms  which  Madame 
de  Kergarouet  heard  from  Camille  Maupin  himself.  She 
took  good  care  not  to  repeat,  nor  even  understand,  the  replies 
made  by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  all  her  ridiculous  in- 
quiries— such  as  writers  so  often  hear,  and  by  which  they 
are  made  to  pay  dearly  for  their  few  joys. 

"How  do  you  write  your  books?"  asked  Madame  de  Ker- 
garouet. 

"Why,  just  as  you  do  your  needlework/'  said  Camille,  "your 
netting,  or  cross-stitch." 

"And  where  did  you  find  all  those  deep  observations  and 
attractive  pictures?" 

"Where  you  find  all  the  clever  things  you  say,  madame. — 
Nothing  is  easier  than  writing,  and  if  you  chose " 

"Ah,  it  all  lies  in  the  choosing?  I  should  never  have 
thought  it ! — And  which  of  vour  works  do  you  yourself  pre- 
fer?" 

"It  is  difficult  to  have  any  preference  for  these  little  kit- 
tens." 

"You  are  surfeited  with  compliments;  it  is  impossible  to 
say  anything  new." 

"Believe  me,  madame,  I  appreciate  the  form  you  give  to 
yours." 

The  Viscountess,  anxious  not  to  seem  neglectful  of  the 
Marquise,  said,  looking  archly  at  her: 

"I  shall  never  forget  this  drive,  sitting  between  wit  and 
beauty." 

The  Marquise  laughed. 


142  BEATRIX 

"You  flatter  me,  madame,"  said  she.  "It  is  not  in  nature 
that  wit  should  be  noticed  in  the  company  of  genius,  and  I 
have  not  yet  said  much." 

Charlotte,  keenly  alive  to  her  mother's  absurdity,  looked 
at  her,  hoping  to  check  her;  but  the  Viscountess  still  vali- 
antly showed  fight  against  the  two  laughing  Parisian  ladies. 
Calyste,  trotting  at  an  easy  pace  by  the  carriage,  could  only 
see  the  two  women  on  the  back  seat,  and  his  eyes  fell  on  them 
alternately,  betraying  a  very  melancholy  mood.  Beatrix, 
who  could  not  help  being  seen,  persistently  avoided  looking 
at  the  youth;  with  a  placidity  that  is  maddening  to  a  lover, 
she  sat  with  her  hands  folded  over  her  crossed  shawl,  and 
seemed  lost  in  deep  meditation. 

At  a  spot  where  the  road  is  shaded  and  as  moist  and  green 
as  a  cool  forest  path,  where  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  were 
scarcely  audible,  and  the  wind  brought  a  resinous  scent,  Ca- 
mille  remarked  on  the  beauty  of  the  place,  and,  leaning  her 
hand  on  Beatrix's  knee,  she  pointed  to  Calyste  and  said: 

"How  well  he  rides  I" 

"Calyste?"  said  Madame  de  Kergarouet.  "He  is  a  capital 
horseman." 

"Oh,  Calyste  is  so  nice  !"  said  Charlotte. 

"There  are  so  many  Englishmen  just  like  him "  replied 

the  Marquise,  indifferently,  without  finishing  her  sentence. 

"His  mother  is  Irish — an  O'Brien,"  said  Charlotte,  feel- 
ing personally  attacked. 

Camille  and  the  Marquise  drove  into  Guerande  with  the 
Vicomtesse  de  Kergarouet  and  her  daughter,  to  the  great  as- 
tonishment of  the  gaping  townspeople;  they  left  their  trav- 
eling companions  at  the  corner  of  the  little  Eue  du  Guenic, 
where  there  was  something  very  like  a  crowd.  Calyste  had 
ridden  on  to  announce  to  his  mother  the  arrival  of  the  party, 
who  were  expected  to  dinner.  The  meal  had  been  politely 
put  off  till  four  o'clock. 

The  Chevalier  went  back  to  give  the  ladies  his  arm;  he 
kissed  Camille's  hand,  hoping  to  touch  that  of  the  Marquise, 
but  she  firmly  kept  her  arms  folded,  and  he  besought  her  in 
vain  with  eyes  sparkling  through  wasted  tears. 


BEATRIX  143 

"You  little  goose  !'*'  said  Camille  in  his  ear,  with  a  light, 
friendly  kiss  on  it. 

"True  enough!"  said  Calyste  to  himself  as  the  carriage 
turned.  "I  forget  my  mother's  counsels — but  I  believe  I 
always  shall  forget  them." 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  who  arrived  valiantly  mounted 
on  a  hired  nag,  Madame  de  Kergarouet,  and  Charlotte  found 
the  table  laid,  and  were  cordially,  if  not  luxuriously,  received 
by  the  du  Guenics.  Old  Zephirine  had  sent  for  certain  bottles 
of  fine  wine  from  the  depths  of  the  cellar,  and  Mariotte  had 
surpassed  herself  in  Breton  dishes.  The  Viscountess,  de- 
lighted to  have  traveled  with  the  famous  Camille  Maupin, 
tried  to  expatiate  on  modern  literature,  and  the  place  held 
in  it  by  Camille;  but  as  it  had  been  with  the  game  of  whist, 
so  it  was  with  literary  matters;  neither  the  du  Guenics,  nor 
the  Cure,  who  looked  in,  nor  the  Chevalier  du  Halga,  under- 
stood anything  about  them.  The  Abbe  and  the  old  naval  of- 
ficer sipped  the  liqueurs  at  dessert. 

As  soon  as  Mariotte,  helped  by  Gasselin  and  by  Madame 
de  Kergarouet's  maid,  had  cleared  the  table,  there  was  an 
enthusiastic  clamor  for  mouche.  Joy  prevailed.  Everybody 
believed  Calyste  to  be  free,  and  saw  him  married  ere  long 
to  little  Charlotte.  Calyste  sat  silent.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  was  making  comparisons  between  the  Kergarouets 
and  the  two  elegant  and  clever  women,  full  of  taste,  who,  at 
this  very  moment,  were  probably  laughing  at  the  two  provin- 
cials, if  he  might  judge  from  the  first  glances  they  had  ex- 
changed. Fanny,  knowing  Calyste's  secret,  noticed  his  de- 
jection. Charlotte's  coquetting  and  her  mother's  attacks  had 
no  effect  on  him.  Her  dear  boy  was  evidently  bored;  his 
body  was  in  this  room,  where  of  yore  he  could  have  been 
amused  by  the  absurdities  of  mouche,  but  his  spirit  was  wan- 
dering round  les  Touches. 

"How  can  I  send  him  off  to  Camille's?"  thought  the 
mother,  who  loved  him  and  who  was  bored  because  he  was 
bored.  Her  affection  lent  her  inventiveness. 

"You  are  dying  to  be  off  to  les  Touches  to  see  her?"  she 
whispered  to  Calyste. 


144  BEATRIX 

The  boy's  answer  was  a  smile  and  a  blush  that  thrilled  this 
devoted  mother  to  her  heart's  very  core. 

"Madame,"  said  she  to  the  Viscountess,  "you  will  be  very 
uncomfortable  to-morrow  in  the  carriage  chaise,  and  obliged 
to  start  very  early  in  the  morning.  Would  it  not  be  better 
if  you  were  to  have  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  carriage? 
Go  over,  Calyste,"  said  she,  turning  to  her  son,  "and  arrange 
the  matter  at  les  Touches;  but  come  back  quickly." 

"It  will  not  take  ten  minutes,"  cried  Calyste,  giving  his 
mother  a  wild  hug  out  on  the  steps,  whither  she  followed  him. 

Calyste  flew  with  the  speed  of  a  fawn,  and  was  in  the  en- 
trance hall  of  les  Touches  just  as  Camille  and  Beatrix  came 
out  of  the  dining-room  after  dinner.  He  had  the  wit  to  offer 
his  arm  to  Felicite. 

"You  have  deserted  the  Viscountess  and  her  daughter  for 
us,"  said  she,  pressing  his  arm.  "We  are  able  to  appreciate 
the  extent  of  the  sacrifice." 

"Are  these  Kergarouets  related  to  the  Portendueres  and 
old  Admiral  de  Kergarouet,  whose  widow  married  Charles  de 
Vandenesse?"  Madame  de  Eochefide  asked  Camille. 

"Mademoiselle  Charlotte  is  the  Admiral's  grandniece,"  re- 
plied Camille. 

"She  is  a  charming  young  person,"  said  Beatrix,  seating 
herself  in  a  Gothic  armchair;  "the  very  thing  for  Monsieur 
du  Guenic." 

"That  marriage  shall  never  be !"  cried  Camille,  vehemently. 

Calyste,  overwhelmed  by  the  cold  indifference  of  the  Mar- 
quise, who  spoke  of  the  little  country  girl  as  the  only  creature 
for  whom  he  was  a  match,  sat  speechless  and  bewildered. 

"And  why  not,  Camille?"  said  Madame  de  Eochefide. 

"My  dear,"  said  Camille,  seeing  Calyste's  despair,  "I  did 
not  advise  Conti  to  get  married,  and  I  believe  I  was  delightful 
to  him — you  are  ungenerous." 

Beatrix  looked  at  her  with  surprise  mingled  with  indefin- 
able suspicions.  Calyste  almost  understood  Camille's  self- 
immolation  as  he  saw  the  pale  flush  rise  in  her  cheeks,  which, 
in  her,  betrayed  the  most  violent  emotions:  he  went  up  to 


BEATRIX  145 

her  awkwardly  enough,  took  her  hand,  and  kissed  it.  Ca- 
mille  sat  down  to  the  piano  with  an  easy  air,  as  if  equally 
sure  of  her  friend  and  of  the  lover  she  had  claimed,  turning 
her  back  upon  them,  and  leaving  them  to  each  other.  She  im- 
provised some  variations  on  airs,  unconsciously  suggested  by 
her  thoughts,  for  they  were  all  deeply  sad.  The  Marquise 
appeared  to  be  listening;  but  she  was  watching  Calyste,  who 
was  too  young  and  too  guileless  to  play  the  part  suggested 
to  him  by  Camille,  and  sat  lost  in  ecstasy  before  his  real  idol. 
At  the  end  of  an  hour,  during  which  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  gave  herself  up  to  her  jealous  feelings,  Beatrix  went 
to  her  room. 

Camille  at  once  led  Caly'ste  into  her  own  room,  so  as  not 
to  be  overheard,  for  women  have  an  admirable  sense  of  dis- 
trust. 

"My  child,"  said  she,  "you  must  pretend  to  love  me  or  you 
are  lost.  You  are  a  perfect  child;  you  know  nothing  about 
women,  you  know  only  how  to  love.  To  love  and  to  be  loved 
are  two  very  different  things.  You  are  rushing  into  terrible 
suffering.  I  want  you  to  be  happy.  If  you  provoke  Beatrix, 
not  in  her  pride,  but  in  her  obstinacy,  she  is  capable  of 
flying  off  to  join  Conti  at  a  few  leagues  from  Paris.  Then 
what  would  become  of  you?" 

"I  should  love  her,"  replied  Calyste. 

"You  would  not  see  her  again." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  should,"  said  he. 

"Pray  how?" 

"I  should  follow  her." 

"But  you  are  as  poor  as  Job,  my  dear  child !" 

"My  father,  Gasselin,  and  I  lived  in  la  Vendee  for  three 
months  on  a  hundred  and  fifty  francs,  marching  day  and 
night." 

"Calyste,"  said  Felicite,  "listen  to  me.  I  see  you  are  too 
honest  to  act  a  part;  I  do  not  wish  to  corrupt  so  pure  a  na- 
ture as  yours.  I  will  take  it  all  on  myself.  Beatrix  shall 
love  you." 


146  BEATRIX 

"Is  it  possible?"  he  cried,  clasping  his  hands. 

"Yes/'  said  Camille.  "But  we  must  undo  the  vows  she 
had  made  to  herself.  I  will  lie  for  you.  Only,  do  not  in- 
terfere in  any  way  with  the  arduous  task  I  am  about  to  un- 
dertake. The  Marquise  has  much  aristocratic  cunning;  she 
is  intellectually  suspicious ;  no  hunter  ever  had  to  take  more 
difficult  game;  so  in  this  case,  my  poor  boy,  the  sportsman 
must  take  his  dog's  advice.  Will  you  promise  to  obey  me 
blindly?  I  will  be  your  Fox,"  said  she,  naming  Calyste's 
best  hound. 

"What,  then,  am  I  to  do?"  replied  the  young  man. 

"Very  little,"  said  Camille.  "Come  here  every  day  at  noon. 
I,  like  an  impatient  mistress,  shall  always  be  at  the  window 
of  the  corridor  that  looks  out  on  the  Guerande  road  to  see 
you  coming.  I  shall  fly  to  my  room,  so  as  not  to  be  seen — 
not  to  let  you  know  the  depth  of  a  passion  that  is  a  burthen 
on  you ;  but  sometimes  you  will  see  me  and  wave  your  hand- 
kerchief to  me.  Then  in  the  courtyard,  and  as  you  come 
upstairs,  you  must  put  on  a  look  of  some  annoyance.  That 
will  be  no  dissimulation,  my  child,"  said  she,  leaning  her 
head  on  his  breast,  "will  it? — Do  not  hurry  up;  look  out  of 
the  staircase  window  on  to  the  garden  to  look  for  Beatrix. 
When  she  is  there — and  she  will  be  there,  never  fear — if  she 
sees  you,  come  straight,  but  very  slowly,  to  the  little  draw- 
ing-room, and  thence  to  my  room.  If  you  should  see  me  at 
the  window  spying  your  treachery,  you  must  start  back  that 
I  may  upt  catch  you  imploring  a  glance  from  Beatrix.  Once 
in  my  room  you  will  be  my  prisoner. — Yes ;  we  will  sit  there 
till  four  o'clock.  You  may  spend  the  time  in  reading;  I 
will  smoke.  You  will  be  horribly  bored  by  not  seeing  her, 
but  I  will  provide  you  with  interesting  books.  You  have 
read  nothing  of  George  Sand's;  I  will  send  a  man  to-night 
to  buy  her  works  at  Nantes,  and  those  of  some  other  writers 
that  are  unknown  to  you. 

"I  shall  be  the  first  to  leave  the  room ;  you  must  not  put 
down  your  book  or  come  into  the  little  drawing-room  till  you 
hear  Beatrix  in  there  talking  to  me.  Whenever  you  see  a 


BEATRIX  147 

music-book  open  on  the  piano,  you  can  ask  if  you  may  stay. 
You  may  be  positively  rude  to  me  if  you  can;  I  give  you 
leave;  all  will  be  well." 

"I  know,  Camille,"  said  he,  with  delightful  good  faith,  "that 
you  have  the  rarest  affection  for  me ;  it  makes  me  quite  sorry 
that  I  ever  saw  Beatrix;  but  what  do  you  hope  for?" 

"In  a  week  Beatrix  will  be  crazy  about  you." 

"Good  God !"  cried  he,  "is  that  possible  ?"  and,  clasping  his 
hands,  he  fell  on  his  knees  before  Camille,  who  was  touched 
and  happy  to  give  him  such  joy  at  her  own  cost. 

"Listen  to  me,"  said  she.  "If  you  speak  to  the  Marquise — 
not  merely  in  the  way  of  conversation,  but  if  you  exchange 
even  a  few  words  with  her — if  you  allow  her  to  question  you, 
if  you  fail  in  the  wordless  part  I  set  you  to  play,  and  which 
is  certainly  easy  enough,  understand  clearly,"  and  she  spoke 
in  a  serious  tone,  "you  will  lose  her  for  ever." 

"I  do  not  understand  anything  of  all  this,  Camille,"  cried 
Calyste,  looking  at  her  with  adorable  guilelessness. 

"If  you  understood,  you  would  not  be  the  exquisite  child 
that  you  are,  the  noble,  handsome  Calyste,"  said  she,  taking 
his  hand  and  kissing  it. 

And  Calyste  did  what  he  had  never  done  before;  he  put 
his  arm  round  Camille  and  kissed  her  gently  in  the  neck,, 
without  passion,  but  tenderly,  as  he  kissed  his  mother.  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches  could  not  restrain  a  burst  of  tears. 

"Now  go,  child,"  said  she,  "and  tell  your  Viscountess  that 
my  carriage  is  at  her  orders." 

Calyste  wanted  to  stay,  but  he  was  obliged  to  obey  Ca- 
mille's  imperious  and  imperative  gesture.  He  went  home  in 
high  spirits,  for  he  was  sure  of  being  loved  within  a  week 
by  the  beautiful  Eochefide. 

The  mouche  players  found  in  him  the  Calyste  they  had 
lost  these  two  months.  Charlotte  ascribed  the  change  to  her 
own  presence.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  was  affectionately 
teasing.  The  Abbe  Grimont  tried  to  read  in  the  Baroness' 
eyes  the  reason  for  the  calm  he  saw  there.  The  Chevalier 
du  Halga  rubbed  his  hands. 


148  BEATRIX 

The  two  old  maids  were  as  lively  as  a  couple  of  lizards. 
The  Viscountess  owed  five  francs  worth  of  accumulated  fines. 
Zephirine's  avarice  was  so  keenly  excited  that  she  lamented 
her  inability  to  see  the  cards,  and  was  sharply  severe  on  her 
sister-in-law,  who  was  distracted  from  the  game  by  Calyste's 
good  spirits,  and  who  asked  him  a  question  now  and  then 
without  understanding  his  replies. 

The  game  went  on  till  eleven  o'clock.  Two  players  had 
retired;  the  Baron  and  du  Halga  were  asleep  in  their  arm- 
chairs. Mariotte  had  made  some  buckwheat  cakes ;  the  Bar- 
oness brought  out  her  tea-caddy ;  and  before  the  Kergarouets 
left,  the  noble  house  of  du  Guenic  offered  its  guests  a  col- 
lation, with  fresh  butter,  fruit,  and  cream,  for  which  the 
silver  teapot  was  brought  out,  and  the  English  china  tea- 
service  sent  to  the  Baroness  by  one  of  her  aunts.  This  air 
of  modern  splendor  in  that  antique  room,  the  Baroness'  ex- 
quisite grace,  accustomed  as  a  good  Irishwoman  to  make  and 
pour  out  tea,  a  great  business  with  Englishwomen,  were 
really  delightful.  The  greatest  luxury  would  not  have  given 
such  a  simple,  unpretending,  and  dignified  effect  as  this  im- 
pulse of  glad  hospitality. 

When  there  was  no  one  left  in  the  room  but  the  Baroness 
and  her  son,  she  looked  inquiringly  at  Calyste. 

"What  happened  this  evening  at  les  Touches?"  she  asked. 

Calyste  told  her  of  the  hope  Camille  had  put  into  his  heart 
and  of  her  strange  instructions. 

"Poor  woman  !"  exclaimed  Fanny,  clasping  her  hands,  and 
for  the  first  time  pitying  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

Some  minutes  after  Calyste  had  left,  Beatrix,  who  had 
heard  him  leave  the  house,  came  into  her  friend's  room,  and 
found  her  sunk  on  a  sofa,  her  eyes  wet  with  tears. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Felicite?"  asked  the  Marquise. 

"That  I  am  forty  and  in  love,  my  dear !"  said  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches,  in  a  tone  of  terrible  fury,  her  eyes  suddenly  dry 
and  hard.  "If  only  you  could  know,  Beatrix,  how  many 
tears  I  shed  daily  over  the  lost  days  of  my  youth!  To 


BEATRIX  149 

be  loved  out  of  .pity,  to  know  that  one's  pittance  of  happi- 
ness is  earned  by  painful  toil,  by  catlike  tricks,  by  snares 
laid  for  the  innocence  and  virtue  of  a  mere  boy — is  not 
that  shameful?  Happily,  we  find  a  sort  of  absolution  in 
the  infinitude  of  passion,  in  the  energy  of  happiness,  in  the 
certainty  of  being  for  ever  supreme  above  other  women  in 
a  young  heart,  on  which  our  name  is  graven  by  unforgettable 
pleasure  and  insane  self-sacrifice.  Yet,  if  he  asked  it  of  me, 
I  would  throw  myself  into  the  sea  at  his  least  signal.  Some- 
times I  catch  myself  wishing  that  he  would  desire  it;  it 
would  be  a  sacrifice,  and  not  suicide. 

"Oh !  Beatrix,  in  coming  here  you  set  me  a  cruel  task ! 
I  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  triumph  against  you;  but  you 
love  Conti,  you  are  noble  and  generous,  and  you  will  not 
deceive  me;  on  the  contrary,  you  will  help  me  to  preserve 
my  Calyste.  I  was  prepared  for  the  impression  you  would 
make  on  him*,  but  I  have  not  been  so  foolish  as  to  seem  jeal- 
ous; that  would  but  add  fuel  to  the  fire.  On  the  contrary, 
I  announced  your  arrival,  depicting  you  in  such  bright  colors 
that  you  could  never  come  up  to  the  portrait,  and  unluckily 
you  are  handsomer  than  ever." 

This  vehement  lament,  in  which  truth  and  untruth  were 
mingled,  completely  deceived  Madame  de  Eochefide.  Claude 
Vignon  had  told  Conti  his  reasons  for  leaving;  Beatrix  was, 
of  course,  informed,  so  she  showed  magnanimity  by  behaving 
coldly  to  Calyste;  but  at  this  instant  there  awoke  in  her  that 
thrill  of  joy  which  every  woman  feels  at  the  bottom  of  her 
heart  on  hearing  that  she  is  loved.  The  love  she  inspires  in 
any  man  implies  an  unfeigned  flattery  which  it  is  impossible 
not  to  appreciate;  but  when  the  man  belongs  to  another 
woman,  his  homage  gives  more  than  joy,  it  is  heavenly  bliss. 
Beatrix  sat  down  by  her  friend,  and  was  full  of  little  coaxing 
ways. 

"You  have  not  a  white  hair,'"  said  she;  "you  have  not  a 
wrinkle ;  your  temples  are  smooth  still,  while  I  know  many  a 
woman  of  thirty  obliged  to  cover  hers.  Look,  my  dear,"  she 
added,  raising  her  curls,  "what  my  journey  cost  me." 


150  BEATRIX 

She  showed  the  faintest  pucker  that  ruffled  the  surface  of 
her  exquisite  skin ;  she  turned  up  her  sleeve  and  displayed  the 
same  wrinkles  on  her  wrists,  where  the  transparent  texture  al- 
ready showed  lines,  and  a  network  of  swollen  veins,  and  three 
deep  marks  made  a  bracelet  of  furrows. 

"Are  not  these  the  two  spots  which  can  tell  no  lies,  as  a 
writer,  investigating  our  miseries,  has  said  ?  We  must  suffer 
much  before  we  see  the  truth  of  his  terrible  shrewdness ;  but. 
happily  for  us,  most  men  know  nothing  about  it,  and  do  not 
read  that  atrocious  writer." 

"Your  letter  told  me  all,"  replied  Camille.  "Happiness  is 
not  fatuous ;  you  boasted  too  much  of  yours.  In  love,  truth  is 
deaf,  dumb,  and  blind.  And  I,  knowing  you  had  reasons  for 
throwing  over  Conti,  dreaded  your  visit  here.  My  dear,  Ca- 
lyste  is  an  angel ;  he  is  as  good  as  he  is  handsome ;  the  poor 
innocent  will  not  resist  one  look  from  you,  he  admires  you  too 
much  not  to  love  on  the  smallest  encouragement ;  your  disdain 
will  preserve  him  to  me.  I  confess  it  with  the  cowardice  of 
true  passion :  If  you  take  him  from  me,  you  kill  me.  Adolphe, 
that  terrible  book  by  Benjamin  Constant,  has  told  us  of 
Adolphe's  sufferings ;  but  what  of  the  woman's,  heh  ?  He  did 
not  study  them  enough  to  depict  them,  and  what  woman 
would  dare  reveal  them?  They  would  discredit  our  sex, 
humiliate  our  virtues,  add  to  our  vices.  Ah!  if  I  may 
measure  them  by  my  fears,  these  tortures  are  like  the  torments 
of  hell.  But  if  he  deserts  me,  my  determination  is  fixed." 

"And  what  have  you  determined  ?"  asked  Beatrix,  with  an 
eagerness  that  was  a  shock  to  Camille. 

On  this  the  two  friends  looked  at  each  other  with  the  keen- 
ness of  two  Venetian  inquisitors  of  State,  a  swift  glance,  in 
which  their  souls  met  and  struck  fire  like  two  flints.  The 
Marquise's  eyes  fell. 

"Besides  man  there  is  only  God !"  said  the  famous  woman 
gravely.  "God  is  the  unknown.  I  should  cast  myself  into  it 
as  into  a  gulf.  Calyste  has  just  sworn  that  he  admires  you 
only  as  he  might  admire  a  picture;  but  you  are  eight-and- 
twenty,  and  in  all  the  splendor  of  your  beauty.  So  the  strug- 


BEATRIX  151 

gle  between  him  and  me  has  begun  by  a  falsehood.  Happily 
I  know  how  to  win." 

"And  how  is  that  ?" 

"That,  my  dear,  is  my  secret.  Leave  me  the  advantages  of 
my  age.  Though  Claude  Vignon  has  cast  me  into  the  abyss — 
me,  when  I  had  raised  myself  to  a  spot  which  I  believed  to  be 
inaccessible-— I  may  at  least  pluck  the  pale  blossoms,  etiolated 
but  delicious,  which  grow  at  the  foot  of  the  precipice." 

Madame  de  Eochefide  was  moulded  like  wax  by  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches,  who  reveled  in  savage  pleasure  as  she  in- 
volved her  in  her  meshes.  Camille  sent  her  to  bed,  nettled 
with  curiosity,  tossed  between  jealousy  and  generosity,  but 
certainly  thinking  much  about  the  handsome  youth. 

"She  would  be  delighted  if  she  could  betray  me,"  said 
Camille  to  herself,  as  they  kissed  and  said  good-night. 

Then,  when  she  was  alone,  the  author  made  way  for  the 
woman — she  melted  into  tears;  she  filled  her  hookah  with 
tobacco  dipped  in  opium,  and  spent  the  greater  part  of  the 
night  smoking,  and  thus  numbing  the  tortures  of  her  love, 
while  seeing,  through  the  clouds  of  smoke,  Calyste's  charming 
head. 

"What  a  fine  book  might  be  written  containing  the  story  of 
my  sorrows !"  said  she  to  herself ;  "but  it  has  been  done.  Sap- 
pho lived  before  me.  Sappho  was  young!  A  touching  and 
lovely  heroine  indeed  is  a  woman  of  forty !  Smoke  your 
hookah,  my  poor  Camille,  you  have  not  even  the  privilege  of 
making  a  poem  out  of  your  woes ;  this  crowns  them  all !" 

She  did  not  go  to  bed  till  daybreak,  mingling  tears,  spasms 
of  rage,  and  magnanimous  resolutions  in  the  long  meditation 
wherein  she  sometimes  considered  the  mysteries  of  the  Catho- 
lic religion,  of  which  she  had  never  thought  in  the  course  of 
her  reckless  life  as  an  artist  and  an  unbelieving  writer. 

Xext  day,  Calyste,  advised  by  his  mother  to  act  exactly  on 
Camille's  instructions,  came  at  noon  and  stole  mysteriously  up 
to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  room,  where  he  found  plenty  of 
books.  Felicite  sat  in  an  armchair  by  the  window,  smoking, 
and  gazing  alternately  at  the  wild  marsh  landscape,  at  the  sea, 


152  BEATRIX 

and  at  Calyste,  with  whom  she  exchanged  a  few  words  con- 
cerning Beatrix.  At  a  certain  moment,  seeing  the  Marquise 
walking  in  the  garden,  she  went  to  the  window  to  unfasten  the 
curtains,  so  that  her  friend  should  see  her,  and  drew  them  to 
shut  out  the  light,  leaving  only  a  strip  that  fell  on  Calyste's 
book. 

"I  shall  ask  you  to  stay  to  dinner  this  evening,  my  child," 
said  she,  tumbling  his  hair,  "and  you  must  refuse,  looking  at 
Beatrix ;  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  making  her  understand 
how  deeply  you  regret  being  unable  to  remain  here." 

At  about  four  o'clock  Camille  left  him  and  went  to  play  the 
dreadful  farce  of  her  false  happiness  to  the  Marquise,  whom 
she  brought  back  to  the  drawing-room.  Calyste  then  came 
out  of  the  adjoining  room ;  at  that  moment  he  felt  the  shame 
of  his  position.  The  look  he  gave  Beatrix,  though  watched  for 
by  Felicite,  was  even  more  expressive  than  she  had  expected. 
Beatrix  was  beautifully  dressed. 

"How  elegant  you  are,  my  sweetheart !"  said  Camille,  when 
Calyste  had  left. 

These  manoeuvres  went  on  for  six  days;  they  were  seconded, 
without  Calyste's  knowledge,  by  the  most  ingenious  conversa- 
tions between  Camille  and  her  friend.  There  was  between  the 
two  women  a  duel  without  truce,  in  which  the  weapons  were 
cunning,  feints,  generosity,  false  confessions,  astute  confi- 
dences, in  which  one  hid  her  love  and  the  other  stripped  hers 
bare,  while  nevertheless  the  iron  sharpness,  red  hot  with  Ca- 
mille's  treacherous  words,  pierced  her  friend's  heart  to  the 
core,  implanting  some  of  those  evil  feelings  which  good 
women  find  it  so  hard  to  suppress.  Beatrix  in  the  end  took  of- 
fence at  the  suspicions  betrayed  by  Camille ;  she  thought  them 
dishonoring  to  both  alike ;  she  was  delighted  to  discover  in  the 
great  authoress  the  weakness  of  her  sex,  and  longed  for  the 
pleasure  of  showing  her  where  her  superiority  ended,  how  she 
might  be  humiliated. 

"Well,  my  dear,  what  are  you  going  to  tell  him  to-day  ?"  she 
asked,  with  a  spiteful  glance  at  her  friend,  when  the  imagi- 
nary lover  asked  leave  to  remain.  "On  Monday  we  had  some- 


BEATRIX  153 

thing  to  talk  over ;  on  Tuesday  you  had  too  poor  a  dinner ;  on 
Wednesday  you  were  afraid  of  annoying  the  Baroness;  on 
Thursday  we  were  going  out  together ;  yesterday  you  bid  him 
good-bye  as  soon  as  he  opened  his  mouth.  Now,  I  want  him 
to  stay  to-day,  poor  boy !" 

"Already,  my  dear !"  said  Camille,  with  biting  irony. 

Beatrix  colored. 

"Then  stay,  Monsieur  du  Guenic,"  said  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  assuming  a  queenly  air,  as  though  she  were  nettled. 

Beatrix  turned  cold  and  hard;  she  was  crushing,  satirical, 
and  intolerable  to  Calyste,  whom  Felicite  sent  off  to  play 
mouche  with  Mademoiselle  de  Kergarouet. 

"That  girl  is  not  dangerous !"  said  Beatrix,  smiling. 

Young  men  in  love  are  like  starving  people,  the  cook's  prepa- 
rations do  not  satisfy  them ;  they  think  too  much  of  the  end  to 
understand  the  means.  As  he  turned  from  les  Touches  to 
Guerande,  Calyste's  mind  was  full  of  Beatrix ;  he  did  not 
know  what  deep  feminine  skill  Felicite  was  employing  to  pro- 
mote his  interests — to  use  a  cant  phrase.  In  the  course  of 
this  week  the  Marquise  had  written  but  one  letter  to  Conti,  a 
symptom  of  indifference  which  had  not  escaped  Camille. 

Calyste's  whole  life  was  concentrated  in  the  short  moments 
when  he  saw  Beatrix ;  this  drop  of  water,  far  from  quenching 
his  thirst,  only  increased  it.  The  magic  words,  "You  shall  be 
loved,"  spoken  by  Camille  and  endorsed  by  his  mother,  were 
the  talisman  by  which  he  checked  the  fire  of  his  passion.  He 
tried  to  kill  time ;  he  could  not  sleep,  and  cheated  his  sleepless- 
ness by  reading,  bringing  home  a  barrow-load  of  books  every 
evening,  as  Mariotte  expressed  it.  His  aunt  cursed  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches;  but  the  Baroness,  who  had  often  gone 
up  to  her  son's  room  on  seeing  a  light  there,  knew  the  secret 
of  his  wakefulness.  Though  Fanny  had  never  got  beyond  her 
timidity  as  an  ignorant  girl,  and  love's  books  had  remained 
closed  to  her,  her  motherly  tenderness  guided  her  to  certain 
notions ;  still,  the  abysses  of  the  sentiment  were  dark  to  her 
and  hidden  by  clouds,  and  she  was  very  much  alarmed  at  the 


154  BEATRIX 

state  in  which  she  saw  her  son,  terrifying  herself  over  the  one 
absorbing  and  incomprehensive  desire  that  was  consuming 
him. 

Calyste  had,  in  fact,  but  one  idea ;  the  im.age  of  Beatrix  was 
always  before  him.  During  the  evening,  over  the  cards,  his 
absence  of  mind  was  like  his  father's  slumbers.  Finding  him 
so  unlike  what  he  had  been  when  he  had  believed  himself  in 
love  with  Camille,  his  mother  recognized  with  a  sort  of  ter- 
ror the  symptoms  of  a  genuine  passion,  a  thing  altogether  un- 
known in  the  old  family  home.  Feverish  irritability  and  con- 
stant dreaming  made  Calyste  stupid.  He  would  often  sit  for 
hours  gazing  at  one  figure  in  the  tapestry.  That  morning  she 
had  advised  him  to  go  no  more  to  les  Touches,  but  to  give  up 
these  two  women. 

"Not  go  to  les  Touches !"  cried  he. 

"Nay,  go,  my  dear,  go;  do  not  be  angry,  my  darling,'*  re- 
plied she,  kissing  his  eyes,  which  had  flashed  flame  at  her. 

In  this  state  Calyste  was  within  an  ace  of  losing  the  fruits 
of  Camille's  skilled  manoeuvres  by  the  Breton  impetuosity  of 
his  love,  which  he  could  no  longer  master.  In  spite  of  his 
promises  to  Felicite,  he  vowed  that  he  would  see  and  speak  to 
Beatrix.  He  wanted  to  read  her  eyes,  to  drown  his  gaze  in 
their  depths,  to  study  the  little  details  of  her  dress,  to  breathe 
its  fragrance,  to  hear  the  music  of  her  voice,  follow  the  elegant 
deliberateness  of  her  movements,  embrace  her  figure  in  a 
glance — to  contemplate  her,  in  short,  as  a  great  general 
studies  the  field  on  which  a  decisive  battle  is  to  be  fought.  He 
wanted  her,  as  lovers  want ;  he  was  the  prey  of  such  desire  as 
closed  his  ears,  dulled  his  intellect,  and  threw  him  into  a  mor- 
bid condition,  in  which  he  no  longer  saw  obstacles  or  distance, 
and  was  not  even  conscious  of  his  body. 

It  struck  him  that  he  might  go  to  les  Touches  before  the 
hour  agreed  upon,  hoping  to  find  Beatrix  in  the  garden.  He 
knew  that  she  walked  there  while  waiting  for  breakfast. 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and  her  friend  had  been  in  the 
morning  to  see  the  salt-marshes,  and  the  basin  with  its  shore  of 
fine  sand,  into  whicn  tne  sea  oozes,  looking  like  a  lake  in  the 


BEATRIX  155 

midst  of  the  sand-hills ;  they  had  come  home,  and  were  talking 
as  they  wandered  about  the  yellow  gravel  paths  in  the  garden. 

"If  this  landscape  interests  you,"  said  Camille,  "you  should 
go  to  le  Croisic  with  Calyste.  There  are  some  very  fine  rocks 
there,  cascades  of  granite,  little  bays  with  natural  basins,  won- 
ders of  capricious  variety,  and  the  seashore  with  thousands 
of  fragments  of  marble,  a  whole  world  of  amusement.  You 
will  see  women  making  wood,  that  is  to  say,  plastering  masses 
of  cow-dung  against  the  wall  to  dry,  and  then  piling  them  to 
keep,  like  peat  in  Paris ;  then  in  the  winter  they  warm  them- 
selves by  that  fuel." 

"And  you  will  trust  Calyste  ?"  said  the  Marquise,  laughing, 
in  a  tone  which  plainly  showed  that  Camille,  by  sulking  with 
Beatrix  the  night  before,  had  obliged  her  to  think  of  Calyste. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  when  you  know  the  angelic  soul  of  a  boy  like 
him  you  will  understand  me.  In  him  beauty  is  as  nothing, 
you  must  know  that  pure  heart,  that  guilelessness  that  is 
amazed  at  every  step  taken  in  the  realm  of  love.  What  faith ! 
what  candor !  what  grace !  The  ancients  had  good  reason  to 
worship  Beauty  as  holy. 

"Some  traveler,  I  forget  who,  tells  us  that  horses  in  a  state 
of  freedom  take  the  handsomest  of  them  to  be  their  leader. 
Beauty,  my  dear,  is  the  genius  of  matter;  it  is  the  hall-mark 
set  by  Nature  on  her  most  perfect  creations ;  it  is  the  truest 
symbol,  as  it  is  the  greatest  chance.  Did  any  one  ever  imagine 
a  deformed  angel  ?  Do  not  they  combine  grace  and  strength  ? 
What  has  kept  us  standing  for  hours  together  before  certain 
pictures  in  Italy,  in  which  genius  has  striven  for  years  to  real- 
ize one  of  these  caprices  of  nature  ?  Come,  with  your  hand  on 
your  conscience,  was  it  not  the  ideal  of  beauty  which  we  com- 
bined in  our  minds  with  moral  grandeur?  Well,  and  Calyste 
is  one  of  those  dreams  made  real;  he  has  the  courage  of  the 
lion,  who  remains  quiet  without  suspecting  his  sovereignty. 
When  he  feels  at  his  ease  he  is  brilliant ;  I  like  his  girlish  dif- 
fidence. In  his  heart,  my  soul  is  refreshed  after  all  the  cor- 
ruption, the  ideas  of  science,  literature,  the  world,  politics, — 
all  the  futile  accessories  under  which  we  stifle  happiness.  I 


156  BEATRIX 

am  now  what  I  never  was  before — I  am  a  child !  I  am  sure  of 
him,  but  I  like  to  pretend  jealousy;  it  makes  him  happy.  Be- 
sides, it  is  part  of  my  secret." 

Beatrix  walked  on,  silent  and  pensive;  Camille  was  endur- 
ing unspoken  martyrdom,  and  flashing  side  glances  at  her 
that  looked  like  flames. 

"Ah,  my  dear,  you — you  are  happy/'  said  Beatrix,  leaning 
her  hand  on  Canaille's  arm  like  a  woman  weary  of  some  covert 
resistance. 

"Yes !  very  happy !"  replied  poor  Felicite,  with  savage  bik 
terness. 

The  women  sank  on  to  a  bench,  both  exhausted.  No  crea~ 
ture  of  her  sex  was  ever  subjected  to  more  elaborate  seduc- 
tion or  more  clear-sighted  Machiavelism  than  Madame  de 
Rochefide  had  been  during  the  last  week. 

"But  I — I  who  see  Conti's  infidelities,  who  swallow  them, 
who " 

"And  why  do  you  not  give  him  up  ?"  said  Camille,  discern- 
ing a  favorable  moment  for  striking  a  decisive  blow. 

"Can  I?" 

"Oh !  poor  child— 

They  both  sat  stupidly  gazing  at  a  clump  of  trees. 

"I  will  go  and  hasten  breakfast,"  said  Camille,  "this  walk 
has  given  me  an  appetite." 

"Our  conversation  has  taken  away  mine,"  said  Beatrix. 

Beatrix,  a  white  figure  in  a  morning  dress,  stood  out  against 
the  green  masses  of  foliage.  Calyste,  who  had  stolen  into  the 
garden  through  the  drawing-room,  turned  down  a  path,  walk- 
ing slowly  to  meet  the  Marquise  by  chance,  as  it  were;  and 
Beatrix  could  not  help  starting  a  little  when  she  saw  him. 

"How  did  I  displease  you  yesterday,  madame?"  asked 
Calyste,  after  a  few  commonplace  remarks  had  been  ex- 
changed. 

"Why,  you  neither  please  me  nor  displease  me,"  said  she 
gently. 

Her  tone,  her  manner,  her  delightful  grace  encouraged 
Calyste. 


BEATRIX  157 

"I  am  indifferent  to  you  ?"  said  he,  in  a  voice  husky  with  the 
tears  that  rose  to  his  eyes. 

"Must  we  not  be  indifferent  to  each  other?"  replied  Bea- 
'trix.  "Each  of  us  has  a  sincere  attachment " 

"Oh!"  said  Calyste  eagerly,  "I  did  love  Camille;  but  I  do 
not  love  her  now." 

"Then  what  do  you  do  every  day,  all  the  morning  long?" 
asked  she,  with  a  perfidious  smile.  "I  cannot  suppose  that,  in 
spite  of  her  passion  for  tobacco,  Camille  prefers  her  cigar  to 
you ;  or  that,  in  spite  of  your  admiration  for  authoresses,  you 
spend  four  hours  in  reading  novels  by  women." 

"Then  you  know  ?"  said  the  innocent  boy,  his  face  flushed 
with  the  joy  of  gazing  at  his  idol 

"Calyste !"  cried  Camille  violently,  as  she  appeared  on  the 
scene,  seizing  him  by  the  arm  and  pulling  him  some  steps; 
"Calyste,  is  this  what  you  promised  me?" 

The  Marquise  heard  this  reproof,  while  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  went  off  scolding,  and  leading  away  Calyste;  she 
stood  mystified  by  Calyste's  avowal,  and  unable  to  understand ' 
it.  Madame  de  Eochefide  was  not  so  clear-sighted  as  Claude 
Vignon.  The  truth  of  the  terrible  and  sublime  comedy  per- 
formed by  Camille  is  one  of  those  parts  of  magnanimous  in- 
famy which  a  woman  can  conceive  of  only  in  the  last  extrem- 
ity. It  means  a  breaking  heart,  the  end  of  her  feelings  as  a 
woman,  and  the  beginning  of  a  sacrifice,  which  drags  her 
down  to  hell  or  leads  her  to  heaven. 

During  breakfast,  to  which  Calyste  was  invited,  Beatrix, 
whose  feelings  were  lofty  and  proud,  had  already  undergone  a 
revulsion,  stifling  the  germs  of  love  that  were  sprouting  in  her 
heart.  She  was  not  hard  or  cold  to  Calyste,  but  her  mild  in- 
difference wrung  his  heart.  Felicite  proposed  that  they 
should  go  on  the  next  day  but  one  to  make  an  excursion 
through  the  strange  tract  of  country  lying  between  les 
Touches,  le  Croisic,  and  le  Bourg  de  Batz.  She  begged  Ca- 
lyste to  spend  the  morrow  in  finding  a  boat  and  some  men, 
in  case  they  should  wish  to  go  out  by  sea.  She  undertook  to 
supply  provisions,  horses,  and  everything  necessary  to  spare 
them  any  fatigue  in  this  party  of  pleasure. 


158  BEATRIX 

Beatrix  cut  her  short  by  saying  that  she  would  not  take  the 
risk  of  running  about  the  country.  Calyste's  face,  which  had 
expressed  lively  delight,  was  suddenly  clouded. 

"Why,  what  are  you  afraid  of,  my  dear  ?"  said  Camille. 

"My  position  is  too  delicate  to  allow  of  my  compromising, 
not  my  reputation,  but  my  happiness/'  she  said  with  meaning, 
and  she  looked  at  the  lad.  "You  know  how  jealous  Conti  is ; 
if  he  knew " 

"And  who  is  to  tell  him?" 

"Will  he  not  come  back  to  fetch  me  ?" 

At  these  words  Calyste  turned  pale.  Notwithstanding  Fe- 
licite's  arguments,  and  those  of  the  young  Breton,  Madame 
de  Eochefide  was  inexorable,  and  showed  what  Camille  called 
her  obstinacy.  Calyste,  in  spite  of  the  hopes  Felicite  gave 
him,  left  les  Touches  in  one  of  those  fits  of  lovers'  distress 
of  which  the  violence  often  rises  to  the  pitch  of  madness. 

On  his  return  home,  Calyste  did  not  quit  his  room  till  din- 
'  ner-time,  and  went  back  again  soon  after.  At  ten  o'clock  his 
mother  became  uneasy,  and  went  up  to  him;  she  found  him 
writing  in  the  midst  of  a  quantity  of  torn  papers  and  rough 
copy.  He  was  writing  to  Beatrix,  for  he  distrusted  Camille ; 
"the  Marquise's  manner  during  their  interview  in  the  garden 
had  encouraged  him  strangely. 

Never  did  a  first  love-letter  spring  in  a  burning  fount  from 
the  soul,  as  might  be  supposed.  In  all  youths  as  yet  uncor- 
rupted,  such  a  letter  is  produced  with  a  flow  too  hotly  effer- 
vescent not  to  be  the  elixir  of  several  letters  begun,  rejected, 
and  re-written. 

Here  is  that  sent  by  Calyste,  which  he  read  to  his  poor,  as- 
tonished mother.  To  her,  the  old  house  was  on  fire;  her  son's 
lore  blazed  up  in  it  like  the  flare  of  a  conflagration. 

Calyste  to  Beatrix. 

"MADAME, — I  loved  you  when  as  yet  you  were  but  a  dream 
to  me;  imagine  the  fervor  assumed  by  my  love  when  I  saw 
you.  The  dream  was  surpassed  by  the  reality.  My  regret  is 


BEATRIX  159 

that  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you  that  you  do  not  know,  when  I 
say  how  beautiful  you  are;  still,  perhaps  your  beauty  never 
gave  rise  to  so  many  feelings  in  any  one  as  in  me.  You  are 
beautiful  in  so  many  ways ;  I  have  studied  you  so  thoroughly 
by  thinking  of  you  day  and  night,  that  I  have  penetrated  the 
mystery  of  your  personality,  the  secrets  of  your  heart,  and 
your  misprized  refinements.  Have  you  ever  been  loved  as  you 
deserve  ? 

"Let  me  tell  you,  then,  that  there  is  nothing  in  you  which 
has  not  its  interpretation  in  my  heart :  your  pride  answers  to 
mine,  the  dignity  of  your  looks,  the  grace  of  your  mien,  the 
elegance  of  your  movements — everything  in  you  is  in  har- 
mony with  the  thoughts  and  wishes  hidden  in  your  secret  soul ; 
and  it  is  because  I  can  read  them  that  I  think  myself 
worthy  of  you.  If  I  had  not  become,  within  these  few  days, 
your  second  self,  should  I  dare  speak  to  you  of  myself?  To 
read  myself  would  be  egotistic;  it  is  you  I  speak  of  here,  not 
Calyste. 

"To  write  to  you,  Beatrix,  I  have  set  my  twenty  years  aside ; 
I  have  stolen  a  march  on  myself  and  aged  my  mind — or,  per- 
haps, you  have  aged  it  by  a  week  of  the  most  horrible  tor- 
ments, caused,  innocently  indeed,  by  you.  Do  not  take  me  for 
one  of  those  commonplace  lovers  at  whom  you  laugh  with  such 
good  reason.  What  merit  is  there,  indeed,  in  loving  a  young, 
beautiful,  clever,  noble  woman !  Alas,  I  cannot  even  dream  of 
deserving  you !  What  am  I  to  you  ?  A  boy  attracted  by  beauty 
and  moral  worth,  as  an  insect  is  attracted  by  light.  You  can- 
not do  anything  else  than  trample  on  the  flowers  of  my  soul, 
yet  all  my  happiness  lies  in  seeing  you  spurn  them  under  foot. 
Absolute  devotion,  unlimited  faith,  the  maddest  passion, — all 
these  treasures  of  a  true  and  loving  heart  are  nothing ;  they 
help  me  to  love,  they  cannot  win  love. 

"Sometimes  I  wonder  that  such  fervid  fanaticism  should 
fail  to  warm  the  idol ;  and  when  I  meet  your  severe,  cold  eye, 
I  feel  myself  turn  to  ice.  Your  disdain  affects  me  then,  and 
not  my  adoration.  Why?  You  cannot  possibly  hate  me  so 
much  as  I  love  you;  so  ought  the  weaker  feeling  to  get  the 
mastery  over  the  stronger  ? 


160  BEATRIX 

"I  loved  Felicite  with  all  the  strength  of  my  heart ;  I  forgot 
her  in  a  day,  in  an  instant,  on  seeing  you.  She  was  a  mistake, 
you  are  the  truth.  You,  without  knowing  it,  have  wrecked  my 
happiness,  and  you  owe  me  nothing  in  exchange.  I  loved 
Camille  without  hope,  and  you  give  me  no  hopes ;  nothing  is 
changed  but  the  divinity.  I  was  a  Pagan,  I  am  a  Christian ; 
that  is  all.  Only,  you  have  taught  me  to  love — to  be  loved 
does  not  come  till  later.  Camille  says  it  is  not  love  that  loves 
only  for  a  few  days :  the  love  that  does  not  grow  day  by  day 
is  a  contemptible  passion;  to  continue  growing,  it  must  not 
foresee  its  end,  and  she  could  see  the  setting  of  our  sun. 

"On  seeing  you,  I  understood  these  sayings  which  I  had 
struggled  against  with  all  my  youth,  all  the  rage  of  my  de- 
sires, all  the  fierce  despotism  of  my  twenty  years.  Then  our 
great  and  sublime  Camille  mingled  her  tears  with  mine.  So 
I  may  love  you  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  as  we  love  God.  If 
you  loved  me,  you  could  not  meet  me 'with  the  reasoning  by 
which  Camille  annihilated  my  efforts.  We  are  both  young, 
we  can  fly  on  the  same  wings,  under  the  same  sky,  and  never 
fear  the  storm  that  threatened  that  eagle. 

"But  what  am  I  saying?  I  am  carried  far  beyond  the 
modesty  of  my  hopes.  You  will  cease  to  believe  in  the  submis- 
sion, the  patience,  the  mute  worship  which  I  implore  you  not 
to  wound  needlessly.  I  know,  Beatrix,  that  you  cannot  love 
me  without  falling  in  your  own  esteem.  And  I  ask  for  no  re- 
turn. 

"Camille  said  once  that  there  was  an  innate  fatality  in 
names,  as  in  her  own.  I  felt  this  fatality  in  yours  when  on 
the  pier  at  Guerande  it  struck  my  eyes  on  the  seashore:  you 
will  come  into  my  life  as  Beatrice  came  into  Dante's.  My 
heart  will  be  the  pedestal  for  a  white  statue — vindictive,  jeal- 
ous, and  tyrannous.  You  are  prohibited  from  loving  me ;  you 
would  endure  a  thousand  deaths ;  you  would  be  deceived,  mor- 
tified, unhappy.  There  is  in  you  a  diabolical  pride  which 
binds  you  to  the  pillar  you  have  laid  hold  on ;  you  will  perish 
while  shaking  the  temple  like  Samson.  I  did  not  discover 
all  these  things ;  my  love  is  too  blind ;  Camille  told  me.  Here 


BEATRIX  161 

it  is  not  my  mind  that  speaks,  but  hers ;  I  have  no  wits  when 
you  are  in  question,  a  tide  of  blood  comes  up  from  my  heart, 
darkening  my  intellect  with  its  waves,  depriving  me  of  my 
powers,  paralyzing  my  tongue,  making  my  knees  quake  and 
bend.  I  can  only  adore  you,  whatever  you  do.  Canaille  calls 
your  firmness  obstinacy ;  I  defend  you ;  I  believe  it  to  be  dic- 
tated by  virtue.  You  are  only  all  the  more  beautiful  in  my 
eyes.  I  know  my  fate ;  the  pride  of  Brittany  is  a  match  for 
the  woman  who  has  made  a  virtue  of  hers. 

"And  so,  dear  Beatrix,  be  kind  and  comforting  to  me. 
When  the  victims  were  chosen,  they  were  crowned  vdth  flow- 
ers ;  you  owe  me  the  garlands  of  compassion,  and  music  for 
the  sacrifice.  Am  I  not  the  proof  of  your  greatness,  and  will 
you  not  rise  to  the  height  of  my  love,  scorned  in  spite  of  its 
sincerity,  in  spite  of  its  undying  fires  ? 

"Ask  Camille  what  my  conduct  has  been  since  the  day  when 
she  told  me  that  she  loved  Claude  Vignon.  I  was  mute;  I 
suffered  in  silence.  Well,  then,  for  you  I  could  find  yet 
greater  strength,  if  you  do  not  drive  me  to  desperation,  if 
you  understand  my  heroism.  One  word  of  praise  from  you 
would  enable  me  to  bear  the  torments  of  martyrdom.  If  you 
persist  in  this  cold  silence,  this  deadly  disdain,  you  will  make 
me  believe  that  I  am  to  be  feared.  Oh,  be  to  me  all  you  can  be 
— charming,  gay,  witty,  affectionate.  Talk  to  me  of  Gennaro 
as  Camille  did  of  Claude.  I  have  no  genius  but  that  of  love ; 
there  is  nothing  formidable  in  me,  and  in  your  presence  I 
will  behave  as  though  I  did  not  love  you. 

"Can  you  reject  the  prayer  of  such  humble  devotion,  of  a 
hapless  youth  who  only  asks  that  his  sun  should  give  him  light 
and  warm  him?  The  man  you  love  will  always  see  you; 
poor  Calyste  has  but  a  few  days  before  him,  you  will  soon 
be  rid  of  him.  So  I  may  go  to  les  Touches  again  to-morrow, 
may  I  not  ?  You  will  not  refuse  my  arm  to  guide  you  round 
the  shores  of  le  Croisic  and  le  Bourg  de  Batz? — If  you  should 
not  come,  that  will  be  an  answer,  and  understood  by  Calyste." 

There  were  four  pages  more  of  close  small  writing,  in  which 
Calyste  explained  the  terrible  threat  contained  in  these  last 


162  BEATRIX 

words,  by  relating  the  story  of  his  boyhood  and  life;  but  he 
told  it  in  exclamatory  phrases ;  there  were  many  of  those  dots 
and  dashes  lavishly  scattered  through  modern  literature  in 
perilous  passages,  like  planks  laid  before  the  reader  to  enable 
him  to  cross  the  gulf.  This  artless  picture  would  be  a  repeti- 
tion of  our  narative:  if  it  did  not  touch  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide,  it  could  scarcely  interest  those  who  seek  strong  sensa- 
tions ;  but  it  made  his  mother  weep  and  say : 

"Then  you  have  not  been  happy  ?" 

This  terrible  poem  of  feeling  that  had  come  like  a  storm  on 
Calyste's  heart,  and  was  to  be  sent  like  a  whirlwind  to  another, 
frightened  the  Baroness ;  it  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that 
she  had  ever  read  a  love-letter. 

Calyste  was  standing  up ;  there  was  one  great  difficulty ;  he 
did  not  know  how  to  send  his  letter. 

The  Chevalier  du  Halga  was  still  in  the  sitting-room,  where 
they  were  playing  off  the  last  pool  of  a  very  lively  mouche. 
Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  in  despair  at  Calyste's  indifference, 
was  trying  to  charm  the  old  people  in  the  hope  of  thus  secur- 
ing her  marriage.  Calyste  followed  his  mother,  and  came 
back  into  the  room  with  the  letter  in  his  breast-pocket — it 
seemed  to  scorch  his  heart;  he  wandered  about  and  up  and 
down  the  room  like  a  moth  that  had  come  in  by  mistake.  At 
last  the  mother  and  son  got  Monsieur  du  Halga  into  the  hall, 
whence  they  dismissed  Mariotte  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel's  little  servant. 

"What  do  they  want  of  the  Chevalier  ?"  said  old  Zephirine 
to  the  other  old  maid. 

"Calyste  seems  to  me  to  be  out  of  his  mind/'  replied  she. 
"He  pays  no  more  heed  to  Charlotte  than  if  she  were  one  of 
the  marsh-girls." 

The  Baroness  had  very  shrewdly  supposed  that  the  Chev- 
alier du  Halga  must,  somewhere  about  the  year  1780,  have 
sailed  the  seas  of  gallant  adventure,  and  she  advised  Calyste 
to  consult  him. 

"What  is  the  best  way  to  send  a  letter  secretly  to  a  lady?" 
said  Calyste  to  the  Chevalier  in  a  whisper. 


BEATRIX  163 

"You  can  give  the  note  to  her  lady's-maid,  with  a  few  louis 
in  her  hand,  for  sooner  or  later  the  maid  is  in  the  secret,  and 
it  is  best  to  let  her  know  it  from  the  first,"  replied  the  Cheva- 
lier, who  could  not  suppress  a  smile ;  "but  it  is  better  to  de- 
liver it  yourself." 

"A  few  louis  !"  exclaimed  the  Baroness. 

Calyste  went  away  and  fetched  his  hat ;  then  he  flew  off  to 
les  Touches,  and  walked  like  an  apparition  into  the  little 
drawing-room,  where  he  heard  Beatrix  and  Camille  talking. 
They  were  sitting  on  the  divan,  and  seemed  on  the  best  pos- 
sible terms.  Calyste,  with  the  sudden  wit  that  love  imparts, 
flung  himself  heedlessly  on  the  divan  by  the  Marquise,  seized 
her  hand,  and  pressed  the  letter  into  it,  so  that  Felicite,  watch- 
ful as  she  might  be,  could  not  see  it  done.  Calyste's  heart  flut- 
tered with  an  emotion  that  was  at  once  acute  and  delightful, 
as  he  felt  Beatrix's  hand  grasp  his,  and  without  even  inter- 
rupting her  sentence  or  seeming  surprised,  she  slipped  the  let- 
ter into  her  glove. 

"You  fling  yourself  on  a  woman  as  if  she  were  a  divan," 
said  she  with  a  laugh. 

"He  has  not,  however,  adopted  the  doctrine  of  the  Turks !" 
said  Felicite,  who  could  not  forbear  from  this  retort. 

Calyste  rose,  took  Canaille's  hand,  and  kissed  it;  then  he 
went  to  the  piano  and  made  every  note  sound  in  a  long  scale 
by  running  one  finger  over  them.  This  glad  excitement 
puzzled  Camille,  who  told  him  to  come  to  speak  to  her. 

"What  is  it  ?"  she  asked  in  his  ear. 

"Nothing,"  said  he. 

"There  is  something  between  them,"  said  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  to  herself. 

The  Marquise  was  impenetrable.  Camille  tried  to  make 
Calyste  talk,  hoping  that  he  might  betray  himself ;  but  the  boy 
made  an  excuse  of  the  uneasiness  his  mother  would  feel,  and 
he  left  les  Touches  at  eleven  o'clock,  not  without  having  stood 
the  fire  of  a  piercing  look  from  Camille,  to  whom  he  had  never 
before  made  this  excuse. 

After  the  agitations  of  a  night  filled  with  Beatrix,  after  he 


164  BEATRIX 

had  been  into  the  town  twenty  times  in  the  course  of  the  morn- 
ing, in  the  hope  of  meeting  the  answer  which  did  not  come, 
the  Marquise's  maid  came  to  the  Hotel  du  Guenic,  and  gave 
the  following  reply  to  Calyste,  who  went  off  to  read  it  in  the 
arbor  at  the  end  of  the  garden : — 

Beatrix  to  Calyste, 

"You  are  a  noble  boy,  but  you  are  a  boy.  You  owe  yourself 
to  Camille,  who  worships  you.  You  will  not  find  in  me  either 
the  perfections  that  distinguish  her,  or  the  happiness  she  lav- 
ishes on  you.  Whatever  you  may  think,  it  is  she  who  is  young 
and  I  who  am  old ;  her  heart  is  full  of  treasures,  and  mine  is 
empty.  She  is  devoted  to  you  in  a  way  you  do  not  appreciate 
enough;  she  has  no  selfishness,  and  lives  wholly  in  you.  I 
should  be  full  of  doubts ;  I  should  drag  you  into  a  life  that  is 
weariful,  ignoble,  and  spoiled  by  my  own  fault.  Camille  is 
free,  she  comes  and  goes  at  her  will ;  I  am  a  slave.  In  short, 
you  forget  that  I  love  and  am  loved.  The  position  in  which  I 
find  myself  ought  to  protect  me  against  any  homage.  To  love 
me,  to  tell  me  that  you  love  me,  is  an  insult.  Would  not  a 
second  lapse  place  me  on  the  level  of  the  most  abandoned 
woman  ? 

"You,  who  are  young  and  full  of  delicate  feeling,  how  can 
you  compel  me  to  say  things  which  the  heart  cannot  utter 
without  being  torn  ? 

"I  prefer  the  scandal  of  an  irreparable  disaster  to  the  shame 
of  perpetual  deceit,  my  own  ruin  to  the  loss  of  my  self-respect. 
In  the  eyes  of  many  people  whose  esteem  I  value,  I  stand  still 
high ;  if  I  should  change,  I  should  fall  some  steps  lower.  The 
world  is  still  merciful  to  women  whose  constancy  cloaks  their 
illicit  happiness,  but  it  is  pitiless  to  a  vicious  habit. 

"I  feel  neither  scorn  nor  anger;  I  am  answering  you  with 
frank  simplicity.  You  are  young,  you  know  nothing  of  the 
world,  you  are  carried  away  by  imagination,  and,  like  all  men 
of  pure  life,  you  are  incapable  of  the  reflections  induced  by 
disaster.  I  will  go  further :  If  I  should  be  of  all  women  the 


BEATRIX  165 

most  mortified;  if  I  had  horrible  misery  to  hide;  if  I  were  de- 
ceived and  deserted  at  last — and,  thank  God,  nothing  of  that 
is  possible — if,  I  say,  by  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  these  things 
were,  no  one  in  the  world  would  ever  see  me  again.  And  then 
I  could  find  it  in  me  to  kill  the  man  who  should  speak  to  me  of 
love,  if  a  man  could  still  find  me  where  I  should  be.  There 
you  have  the  whole  of  my  mind. 

"Perhaps  I  have  to  thank  you  for  having  written  to  me. 
After  your  letter,  and  especially  after  my  reply,  I  may  be  quite 
at  my  ease  with  you  at  les  Touches,  follow  the  bent  of  my 
humor,  and  be  what  you  ask  me  to  be.  I  say  nothing  of  the 
bitter  ridicule  I  should  incur  if  my  eyes  should  cease  to  ex- 
press the  sentiments  of  which  you  complain.  To  rob  Camille 
a  second  time  would  be  an  evidence  of  weakness  to  which  no 
woman  could  twice  resign  herself.  If  I  loved  you  madly,  if  I 
were  blind,  if  I  were  forgetful  of  everything  else,  I  should  al- 
ways see  Camille.  Her  love  for  you  is  a  barrier  too  high  to 
be  crossed  by  any  force,  even  with  the  wings  of  an  angel ;  only 
demons  would  not  recoil  from  such  base  treachery. 

"In  this,  my  child,  lies  a  world  of  reasons  which  noble  and 
refined  women  keep  to  themselves,  of  which  you  men  know 
nothing,  even  when  a  man  is  so  like  a  woman  as  you  are  at 
this  moment. 

"Finally,  you  have  a  mother  who  has  shown  you  what  a 
woman's  life  ought  to  be;  pure  and  spotless,  she  has  fulfilled 
her  fate  nobly ;  all  I  know  of  her  has  filled  my  eyes  with  tears 
of  envy  which  has  risen  from  the  depths  of  my  heart.  I  might 
have  been  like  her !  Calyste,  this  is  what  your  wife  ought  to 
be ;  this  what  her  life  ought  to  be. 

"I  will  not  again  cast  you  back  maliciously,  as  I  have  done, 
on  little  Charlotte,  who  would  bore  you  from  the  first,  but  on 
some  exquisite  girl  who  is  worthy  of  you.  If  I  gave  myself  to 
you,  I  should  spoil  your  life.  Either  you  would  fail  in  faith- 
fulness, in  constancy,  or  you  would  resolve  to  devote  your  life 
to  me :  I  will  be  honest — I  should  take  it ;  I  should  carry  you 
off  I  know  not  whither,  far  from  the  world ;  I  should  make  you 
very  unhappy;  I  am  jealous.  I  see  monsters  in  a  drop  of 


166  BEATRIX 

water ;  I  am  in  despair  over  odious  trifles  which  many  women 
put  up  with;  there  are  even  inexorable  thoughts,  originating 
in  myself,  not  caused  by  you,  which  would  wound  me  to 
death.  When  a  man  is  not  as  respectful  and  as  delicate  in 
the  tenth  year  of  his  happiness  as  he  was  on  the  eve  of  the 
day  when  he  was  a  beggar  for  a  favor,  he  seems  to  me  a 
wretch,  and  degrades  me  in  my  own  eyes.  Such  a  lover  no 
longer  believes  in  the  Amadis  and  Cyrus  of  my  dreams.  In 
our  day  love  is  purely  mythical;  and  in  you  I  find  no  more 
than  the  fatuity  of  a  desire  which  knows  not  its  end.  I  am 
not  forty;  I  cannot  yet  bring  my  pride  to  bend  to  the  au- 
thority of  experience;  I  know  not  the  love  that  could  make 
me  humble;  in  fact,  I  am  a  woman  whose  nature  is  still 
too  youthful  not  to  be  detestable.  I  cannot  answer  for  my 
moods;  all  my  graciousness  is  on  the  surface.  Perhaps 
I  have  not  suffered  enough  yet  to  have  acquired  the  indul- 
gent ways,  the  perfect  tenderness  that  we  owe  to  cruel  de- 
ceptions. Happiness  has  its  impertinence,  and  I  am  very 
impertinent.  Camille  will  always  be  your  devoted  slave,  I 
should  be  an  unreasonable  tyrant. 

"Indeed,  is  not  Camille  set  by  your  side  by  your  good 
angel,  to  guard  you  till  you  have  reached  the  moment  when 
you  must  start  on  the  life  that  is  in  store  for  you,  and  which 
you  must  not  fail  in  ?  I  know  Felicite !  Her  tenderness 
is  inexhaustible;  she  may  perhaps  lack  some  of  the  graces 
of  her  sex,  but  she  shows  that  vivifying  strength,  that  genius 
for  constancy,  and  that  lofty  courage  which  make  everything 
acceptable.  She  will  see  you  marry  while  suffering  tortures ; 
she  will  find  you  a  free  Beatrix,  if  Beatrix  fulfils  your  ideal 
of  woman  and  answers  to  your  dreams;  she  will  smooth 
out  all  the  difficulties  in  your  future  life.  The  sale  of  a 
single  acre  of  her  land  in  Paris  will  redeem  your  estates  in 
Brittany;  she  will  make  you  her  heir — has  she  not  already 
adopted  you  as  a  son?  And  I,  alas!  What  can  I  do  for 
your  happiness?  Nothing. 

"Do  not  be  false  to  an  immeasurable  affection  which  has 
made  up  its  mind  to  the  duties  of  motherliness.  To  me  she 


BEATRIX  167 

seems  most  happy — this  Camilla!  The  admiration  you  feel 
for  poor  Beatrix  is  such  a  peccadillo  as  women  of  Camilla's 
age  view  with  the  greatest  indulgence.  When  they  are  sure 
of  being  loved  they  will  allow  constancy  a  little  infidelity; 
nay,  one  of  their  keenest  pleasures  is  triumph  over  the 
youth  of  their  rivals. 

"Camille  is  superior  to  other  women,  all  this  does  not  bear 
upon  her ;  I  only  say  it  to  reassure  your  conscience.  I  have 
studied  Camille  well;  she  is  in  my  eyes  one  of  the  grandest 
figures  of  our  time.  She  is  both  clever  and  kind,  two  qual- 
ities rarely  united  in  a  woman;  she  is  generous  and  simple, 
two  more  great  qualities  seldom  found  together.  I  have  seen 
trustworthy  treasures  in  the  depth  of  her  heart;  it  would 
seem  as  though  Dante  had  written  for  her  in  the  Paradiso 
the  beautiful  lines  on  eternal  happiness  which  she  was  in- 
terpreting to  you  the  other  evening,  ending  with  Senza  brama 
sicura  richezza. 

"She  has  talked  to  me  of  her  fate  in  life,  told  me  all  her 
experience,  and  proved  to  me  that  love,  the  object  of  our 
desires  and  dreams,  had  always  evaded  her;  I  replied  that 
she  seemed  to  me  a  proof  of  that  difficulty  of  matching 
anything  sublime,  which  accounts  for  much  unhappiness. 
Yours  is  one  of  the  angelic  souls  whose  sister-soul  it  seems 
impossible  to  find.  This  misfortune,  dear  child,  is  what 
Camille  will  spare  you ;  even  if  she  should  die  for  it,  she  will 
find  you  a  being  with  whom  you  may  live  happy  as  a  hus- 
band. 

"I  offer  you  a  friend's  hand,  and  trust,  not  to  your  heart, 
but  to  your  sense,  to  find  that  we  are  henceforth  to  each 
other  a  brother  and  sister,  and  to  terminate  our  correspond- 
ence, which,  between  les  Touches  and  Guerande,  is  odd,  to 
say  the  least  of  it. 

"BEATRIX  DE  CASTERAN." 

The  Baroness,  in  the  highest  degree  excited  by  the  details 
and  progress  of  her  son's  love  affairs  with  the  beautiful 
Rochefide,  could  not  sit  still  in  the  room,  where  she  was 


168  BEATRIX 

working  at  her  cross-stitch,  looking  up  at  every  stitch  to 
watch  Calyste;  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  came  up  to  him 
with  a  mixture  of  diffidence  and  boldness.  The  mother  had 
all  the  graces  of  a  courtesan  about  to  ask  a  favor. 

"Well?"  said  she,  trembling,  but  not  actually  asking  to 
see  the  letter. 

Calyste  showed  it  her  in  his  hand,  and  read  it  aloud  to 
her.  The  two  noble  souls,  so  simple  and  ingenuous,  discov- 
ered in  this  astute  and  perfidious  reply  none  of  the  treachery 
and  snares  infused  into  it  by  the  Marquise. 

"She  is  a  noble  and  high-minded  woman !"  said  the  Baron- 
ess, whose  eyes  glistened  with  moisture.  "I  will  pray  to  God 
for  her.  I  never  believed  that  a  mother  could  desert  her 
husband  and  child  and  preserve  so  much  virtue.  She  de- 
serves to  be  forgiven." 

"Am  I  not  right  to  worship  her  ?"  cried  Calyste. 

"But  whither  will  this  love  lead  you?"  said  his  mother. 
"Oh !  my  child,  how  dangerous  are  these  women  of  noble 
sentiments  !  Bad  women  are  less  to  be  feared. — Marry  Char- 
lotte de  Kergarouet,  and  release  two-thirds  of  the  family 
estates.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  can  achieve  this  great 
end  by  selling  a  few  farms,  and  the  good  soul  will  devote 
herself  to  improving  the  property.  You  may  leave  your  chil- 
dren a  noble  name,  a  fine  fortune " 

"What,  forget  Beatrix?"  said  Calyste,  in  a  hollow  voice, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor. 

He  left  his  mother,  and  went  up  to  his  room  to  reply  to 
this  letter. 

Madame  du  Guenic  had  Madame  de  Eochefide's  words 
stamped  on  her  heart :  she  wanted  to  know  on  what  Calyste 
founded  his  hopes.  At  about  this  hour  the  Chevalier  would 
be  exercising  his  dog  on  the  Mall;  the  Baroness,  sure  of 
finding  him  there,  put  on  a  bonnet  and  shawl  and  went  out. 
It  was  so  extraordinary  an  event  to  see  Madame  du  Guenic 
out,  excepting  at  church,  or  in  one  of  the  two  pretty  alleys 
that  were  frequented  on  fete-days,  when  she  would  accom- 
pany her  husband  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  that,  within 


BEATRIX  169 

two  hours,  every  one  was  saying  to  every  one  else,  "Madame 
du  Guenic  was  out  to-day ;  did  you  see  her  ?"  Thus  before  long 
the  news  came  to  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel's  ears,  and  she 
said  to  her  niece : 

"Something  very  strange  is  happening  at  the  du  Guenics'." 

"Calyste  is  madly  in  love  with  the  beautiful  Marquise  de 
Rochefide,"  said  Charlotte.  "I  should  do  better  to  leave  Gue- 
rande  and  go  back  to  Nantes." 

At  this  moment  the  Chevalier  du  Halga,  surprised  at  being 
sought  out  by  the  Baroness,  had  released  Thisbe  from  her 
cord,  recognizing  the  impossibility  of  attending  to  two  ladies 
at  once. 

"Chevalier,  you  have  had  some  experience  in  love  affairs  ?" 
said  the  Baroness. 

Captain  du  Halga  drew  himself  up  with  not  a  little  of  the 
airs  of  a  coxcomb.  Madame  du  Guenic,  without  naming  her 
son  or  the  Marquise,  told  him  the  contents  of  the  love  letter, 
asking  him  what  could  be  the  meaning  of  such  an  answer. 
The  Chevalier  stood  with  his  nose  in  the  air  caressing  his 
chin ;  he  listened  with  little  grimaces ;  and  at  last  he  looked 
keenly  at  the  Baroness. 

"When  a  thoroughbred  horse  means  to  leap  a  fence,  it  goes 
up  to  it  first  to  smell  it  and  examine  it,"  he  said.  "Calyste 
will  be  the  happiest  young  rogue " 

"Hush !"  said  the  Baroness 

"I  am  dumb.  In  old  times  that  was  my  only  point,"  said 
ihe  old  man.  "It  is  fine  weather,"  he  went  on,  after  a  pause, 
"the  wind  is  northeasterly.  By  Heaven !  how  the  Belle-Poule 

danced  before  that  wind  on  the  day But,"  he  went  on, 

interrupting  himself,  "I  have  a  singing  in  my  ears,  and  pains 
in  the  false-ribs;  the  weather  will  change. — You  know  that 
the  fight  of  the  Belle-Poule  was  so  famous  that  ladies  wore 
caps  a  la  Belle-Poule.  Madame  de  Kergarouet  was  the  first 
to  appear  at  the  opera  in  such  a  head-dress.  'You  are 
dressed  for  conquest/  I  said  to  her.  The  words  were  re- 
peated in  every  box." 

The  Baroness  listened  politely  to  the  old  man,  who,  faith- 


170  BEATRIX 

fill  to  the  laws  of  old-world  etiquette,  escorted  her  back  to 
the  little  street,  neglecting  Thisbe.  He  let  out  the  secret 
of  Thisbe's  birth.  She  was  the  granddaughter  of  that  sweet 
Thisbe  that  had  belonged  to  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Ker- 
garouet,  the  Admiral's  first  wife.  This  Thisbe  the  third  was 
eighteen  years  old. 

The  Baroness  ran  lightly  up  to  Calyste's  room,  as  gleeful 
as  if  she  were  in  love  herself.  Calyste  was  not  there,  but 
Fanny  saw  a  letter  on  the  table  addressed  to  Madame  de 
Eochefide,  folded,  but  not  sealed.  Irresistible  curiosity 
prompted  the  anxious  mother  to  read  her  son's  answer.  The 
indiscretion  was  cruelly  punished;  she  felt  horrible  anguish 
when  she  saw  the  precipice  towards  which  love  was  driving 
Calyste. 

Calyste  to  Beatrix. 

"What  do  I  care  for  the  family  of  du  Guenic  in  such  times 
as  we  live  in,  dearest  Beatrix !  My  name  is  Beatrix,  the 
happiness  of  Beatrix  is  my  happiness,  her  life  is  my  life,  and 
all  my  fortune  is  in  her  heart.  Our  lands  have  been  in  pledge 
these  two  hundred  years,  and  may  remain  so  for  two  hundred 
more;  our  farmers  have  them,  no  one  can  take  them  away. 
To  see  and  love  you  !  That  is  my  religion. 

"Marry!  The  idea  has  made  me  heartsick.  Are  there 
two  such  as  Beatrix?  I  will  marry  no  one  but  you;  I  will 
wait  twenty  years  if  I  must;  I  am  young,  and  you  will  al- 
ways be  beautiful.  My  mother  is  a  saint,  and  it  is  not  for 
me  to  judge  her.  She  never  loved !  I  know  now  how  much 
she  has  lost,  and  what  sacrifices  she  has  made.  .  You,  Beatrix, 
have  taught  me  to  love  my  mother  better;  she  dwells  in  my 
heart  with  you — there  will  never  be  any  one  else;  she  is  your 
only  rival.  Is  not  this  as  much  as  to  say  that  no  one  shares 
your  throne  ?  So  your  reassuring  letter  has  no  effect  on  my 
mind. 

"As  to  Camille,  you  have  only  to  give  me  a  hint,  and  I 
will  beg  her  to  tell  you  herself  that  I  do  not  love  her;  she 
is  the  mother  of  my  intelligence;  nothing  more,  nothing 


BEATRIX  171 

less.  As  soon  as  I  saw  you,  she  became  a  sister  to  me,  my 
friend — my  man  friend — what  you  will;  but  we  have  no 
claims  on  each  other  beyond  those  of  friendship.  I  thought 
she  was  a  woman  till  the  moment  when  I  first  saw  you.  But 
you  show  me  that  Camille  is  a  man ;  she  swims,  hunts,  rides ; 
she  smokes  and  drinks;  she  writes,  she  can  analyze  a  book 
or  a  heart ;  she  has  not  the  smallest  weakness ;  she  walks 
on  in  her  strength;  she  has  not  your  free  grace,  your  step 
like  the  flight  of  a  bird,  your  voice — the  voice  of  love — your 
arch  looks,  your  gracious  demeanor.  She  is  Camille  Maupin; 
and  nothing  else;  she  has  nothing  of  the  woman  about  her, 
and  you  have  everything  that  I  love  in  woman;  I  felt  from 
the  day  when  I  first  saw  you  that  you  were  mine. 

"You  will  laugh  at  this  feeling,  but  it  has  gone  on  in- 
creasing; it  strikes  me  as  monstrous  that  we  should  be  di- 
vided; you  are  my  soul,  my  life,  and  I  cannot  live  where 
you  are  not.  Let  me  love  you !  We  will  fly,  we  will  go  far, 
far  from  the  world,  into  some  country  where  you  will  know 
nobody,  and  where  you  will  have  no  one  but  me  and  God 
in  your  heart.  My  mother,  who  loves  you,  will  come  some 
day  to  live  with  us.  Ireland  has  many  country  houses,  and 
my  mother's  family  will  surely  lend  us  one.  Great  God! 
Let  us  be  off !  A  boat,  some  sailors,  and  we  shall  be  there 
before  any  one  can  guess  whither  we  have  fled  from  the  world 
you  dread  so  greatly. 

"You  have  never  been  loved;  I  feel  it  as  I  re-read  your 
letter,  and  I  fancy  I  can  perceive  that  if  none  of  the  reasons 
of  which  you  speak  existed  you  would  allow  yourself  to  be 
loved  by  me.  Beatrix,  a  holy  love  will  wipe  out  the  past. 

"Is  it  possible  in  your  presence  to  think  of  anything  but 
you  ?  Oh !  I  love  you  so  much  that  I  could  wish  you  a 
thousand  times  disgraced,  so  as  to  prove  to  you  the  power 
of  my  love  by  adoring  you  as  if  you  were  the  holiest  of 
creatures.  You  call  my  love  for  you  an  insult.  Oh,  Beatrix, 
you  do  not  think  that!  The  love  of  a  'noble'  child — you 
call  me  so — would  do  honor  to  a  queen. 

"So  to-morrow  we  will  wander  lover-like  along  by  the  rocks 


172  BEATRIX 

and  the  sea,  and  you  shall  tread  the  sands  of  old  Brittany 
and  consecrate  them  anew  for  me.  Give  me  that  day  of  joy, 
and  the  transient  alms — leaving  perhaps,  alas!  no  trace  on 
your  memory — will  be  a  perennial  treasure  to  Calyste " 

The  Baroness  dropped  the  letter  unfinished;  she  knelt  on 
a  chair  and  put  up  a  silent  prayer  to  God,  imploring  Him 
to  preserve  her  son's  wits,  to  deliver  him  from  madness  and 
error,  and  snatch  him  back  from  the  ways  in  which  she  saw 
him  rushing. 

"What  are  you  doing,  mother?"  said  Calyste's  voice. 

"Praying  for  you,"  she  replied,  looking  at  him  with  eyes 
full  of  tears.  "I  have  been  so  wrong  as  to  read  this  letter. — 
My  Calyste  is  gone  mad." 

"It  is  the  sweetest  form  of  madness,"  said  the  youth,  kiss- 
ing his  mother. 

"I  should  like  to  see  this  woman,  my  child." 

"Well,  mamma,  we  shall  take  a  boat  to-morrow  to  cross 
over  to  le  Croisic;  come  to  the  jetty." 

He  sealed  his  letter  and  went  off  to  les  Touches.  The 
thing  which  above  all  others  appalled  the  Baroness  was  to 
see  that,  by  sheer  force  of  instinct,  feeling  could  acquire  the 
insight  of  consummate  experience.  Calyste  had  written  to 
Beatrix  as  he  might  have  done  under  the  guidance  of  Mon- 
sieur du  Halga. 

One  of  the  greatest  joys,  perhaps,  that  a  small  mind  can 
know  is  that  of  duping  a  great  soul  and  catching  it  in  a 
snare.  Beatrix  knew  herself  to  be  very  inferior  to  Camille 
Maupin.  This  inferiority  was  not  merely  in  the  sum-total 
of  intellectual  qualities  known  as  talent,  but  also  in  those 
qualities  of  the  heart  that  are  called  passion.  At  the  mo- 
ment when  Calyste  arrived  at  les  Touches,  with  the  impetu- 
ous haste  of  first  love  borne  on  the  pinions  of  hope,  the  Mar- 
quise was  conscious  of  keen  satisfaction  in  knowing  herself 
to  be  loved  by  this  charming  youth  She  did  not  go  so  far 
as  to  wish  to  be  his  accomplice  in  this  feeling;  she  made  it 


BEATRIX  173 

a  pc'nt  of  heroism  to  repress  this  capriccio,  as  the  Italians 
say,  and  fancied  she  would  thus  be  on  a  par  with  her  friend ; 
she  was  happy  to  be  able  to  make  her  some  sacrifice.  In 
short,  the  vanities  peculiar  to  a  Frenchwoman,  which  con- 
stitute the  famous  coquetterie  whence  she  derives  her  superior- 
ity, were  in  her  nattered  and  amply  satisfied:  she  was 
tempted  by  the  utmost  seduction,  and  she  resisted  it;  her 
virtues  sang  a  sweet  concert  of  praise  in  her  ear. 

The  two  women,  apparently  indolent,  were  lounging  on  the 
divan  in  that  little  drawing-room  so  full  of  harmony,  in  the 
midst  of  a  world  of  flowers,  with  the  window  open,  for  the 
north  winds  had  ceased  to  blow.  A  melting  southerly  breeze 
dimpled  the  salt-water  lake  that  they  could  see  in  front  of 
them,  and  the  sun  scorched  the  golden  sands.  Their  spirits 
were  as  deeply  tossed  as  Nature  lay  calm,  and  not  less  burn- 
ing. Camille,  broken  on  the  wheel  of  the  machinery  she  was 
working,  was  obliged  to  keep  a  guard  over  herself,  the  friendly 
foe  she  had  admitted  into  her  cage  was  so  prodigiously  keen ; 
not  to  betray  her  secret  she  gave  herself  up  to  observing  the 
secrets  of  nature;  she  cheated  her  pain  by  seeking  a  mean- 
ing in  the  motions  of  the  spheres,  and  found  God  in  the 
sublime  solitude  of  the  sky. 

When  once  an  ii  fidel  acknowledges  God,  he  throws  himself 
headlong  into  Catholicism,  which,  viewed  as  a  system,  is  per- 
fect. 

That  morning  Camille  had  shown  the  Marquise  a  face  still 
radiant  with  the  light  of  her  research,  carried  on  during 
a  night  spent  in  lamentation.  Calyste  was  always  before  her 
like  a  heavenly  vision.  She  regarded  this  beautiful  youth, 
to  whom  she  devoted  herself,  as  her  guardian  angel.  Was 
it  not  he  who  was  leading  her  to  the  supernal  regions  where 
sufferings  have  an  end  under  the  weight  of  incomprehensible 
immensity  ?  Still,  Camille  was  made  uneasy  by  Beatrix's  tri- 
umphant looks.  One  woman  does  not  gain  such  an  advan- 
tage over  another  without  allowing  it  to  be  guessed,  while 
justifying  herself  for  having  taken  it.  Nothing  could  be 
stranger  than  this  covert  moral  struggle  between  the  two 


174  BEATRIX 

friends,  each  hiding  a  secret  from  the  other,  and  each  be- 
lieving herself  to  be  the  creditor  for  unspoken  sacrifices. 

Calyste  arrived  holding  his  letter  under  his  glove,  ready 
to  slip  it  into  Beatrix's  hand.  Camille,  who  had  not  failed 
to  mark  the  change  in  her  guest's  manner,  affected  not  to 
look  at  her,  but  studied  her  in  a  mirror  just  when  Calyste 
made  his  entrance.  That  is  the  sunken  rock  for  every 
woman.  The  cleverest  and  the  most  stupid,  the  most  frank 
and  the  most  astute,  are  not  then  mistress  of  their  secret; 
at  that  moment  it  blazes  out  to  another  woman's  eyes.  Too 
much  reserve  or  too  much  freedom,  an  open  and  a  beaming 
glance,  or  a  mysterious  droop  of  the  eyelids — everything  then 
reveals  the  feeling  above  all  others  difficult  to  conceal,  for 
indifference  is  so  absolutely  cold  that  it  can  never  be  well 
acted.  Women  have  the  genius  of  shades  of  manner — they 
use  them  too  often  not  to  know  them  all — and  on  these  occa- 
sions they  take  in  a  rival  from  head  to  foot  at  a  glance ;  they 
see  the  slightest  twitch  of  a  foot  under  a  petticoat,  the  most 
imperceptible  start  in  the  figure,  and  know  the  meaning  of 
what  to  a  man  seems  to  have  none.  Two  women  watching  one 
another  play  one  of  the  finest  comedies  to  be  seen. 

"Calyste  has  committed  some  folly,"  thought  Camille,  ob- 
serving in  both  of  them  the  indefinable  look  of  persons  who 
understand  each  other. 

There  was  no  formality  or  affected  indifference  in  the 
Marquise  now;  she  looked  at  Calyste  as  if  he  belonged  to 
her.  Calyste  explained  matters;  he  reddened  like  a  guilty 
creature,  like  a  happy  lover.  He  had  just  settled  everything 
for  their  excursion  on  the  morrow. 

"Then  you  are  really  going,  my  dear  ?"  said  Camille. 

"Yes,"  said  Beatrix. 

"How  did  you  know  that  ?"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
to  Calyste. 

"I  have  come  to  ask,"  he  replied,  at  a  glance  shot  at  him 
by  Madame  de  Rochefide,  who  did  not  wish  her  friend  to 
have  any  suspicion  of  their  correspondence. 

"They  have  already  come  to  an  understanding,"  said  Ca- 


BEATRIX  175 

mille  to  herself,  catching  this  look  by  a  side-glance  from  the 
corner  of  her  eye.  "It  is  all  over;  there  is  nothing  left  to 
me  but  to  disappear." 

And  under  the  pressure  of  this  thought,  a  deathlike  change 
passed  over  her  face  that  gave  Beatrix  a  chill. 

"What  is  the  matter,  dear?"  said  she. 

"Nothing. — Then,  Calyste,  will  you  send  on  my  horses  and 
yours,  so  that  we  may  find  them  ready  on  the  other  side  of 
le  Croisic  and  ride  back  through  le  Bourg  de  Batz  ?  We  will 
breakfast  at  le  Croisic  and  dine  here.  You  will  undertake 
to  find  boatmen.  We  will  start  at  half-past  eight  in  the 
morning. — Such  fine  scenery !"  she  added  to  Beatrix.  "You 
will  see  Cambremer,  a  man  who  is  doing  penance  on  a  rock 
for  having  murdered  his  son.  Oh !  you  are  in  a  primitive 
land  where  men  do  not  feel  like  the  common  herd.  Calyste 
will  tell  you  the  story." 

She  went  into  her  room;  she  was  stifling.  Calyste  de- 
livered his  letter  and  followed  Camille. 

"Calyste,  she  loves  you,  I  believe ;  but  you  are  hiding  some- 
thing; you  have  certainly  disobeyed  my  injunctions." 

"She  loves  me !"  said  he,  dropping  into  a  chair. 

Camille  looked  out  at  the  door.  Beatrix  had  vanished. 
This  was  strange.  A  woman  does  not  fly  from  a  room  where 
the  man  is  whom  she  loves  and  whom  she  is  certain  to  see 
again,  unless  she  has  something  better  to  do.  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  asked  herself,  "Can  she  have  a  letter  from  Ca- 
lyste ?"  But  she  thought  the  innocent  lad  incapable  of  such 
audacity. 

"If  you  have  disobeyed  me,  all  is  lost  by  your  own  fault," 
said  she  gravely.  "Go  and  prepare  for  the  joys  of  to-mor- 
row." 

She  dismissed  him  with  a  gesture  which  Calyste  could  not 
rebel  against.  There  are  silent  sorrows  that  are  despotically 
eloquent.  As  he  went  to  le  Croisic  to  find  the  boatmen,  Ca- 
lyste had  some  qualms  of  fear.  Camille's  speech  bore  a 
stamp  of  doom  that  revealed  the  foresight  of  a  mother. 
Four  hours  later,  when  he  returned,  very  tired,  counting 


176  BEATRIX 

on  dinner  at  les  Touches,  he  was  met  at  the  door  hy  Camilla's 
maid,  who  told  him  that  her  mistress  and  the  Marquise  could 
not  see  him  this  evening.  Calyste  was  surprised,  and  wanted 
to  question  the  maid,  but  she  shut  the  door  and  vanished. 

Six  o'clock  was  striking  by  the  clocks  of  Guerande.  Ca- 
lyste went  home,  asked  for  some  dinner,  and  then  played 
mouche,  a  prey  to  gloomy  meditations.  These  alternations 
of  joy  and  grief,  the  overthrow  of  his  hopes  following  hard 
upon  what  seemed  the  certainty  that  he  was  loved,  crushed 
the  young  soul  that  had  been  soaring  heavenward  to  the  sky, 
and  had  risen  so  high  that  the  fall  must  be  tremendous. 

"What  ails  you,  my  Calyste  ?"  his  mother  whispered  to  him. 

"Nothing,"  said  he,  looking  at  her  with  eyes  whence  the 
light  of  his  soul  and  the  flame  of  love  had  died  out. 

It  is  not  hope,  but  despair,  that  gives  the  measure  of  our 
ambitions.  We  give  ourselves  over  in  secret  to  the  beautiful 
poems  of  hope,  while  grief  shows  itself  unveiled. 

"Calyste,  you  are  not  at  all  nice,"  said  Charlotte,  after 
vainly  wasting  on  him  those  little  provincial  teasing  ways 
which  always  degenerate  into  annoyance. 

"I  am  tired,"  he  said,  rising  and  bidding  the  party  good- 
night. 

"Calyste  is  much  altered,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 

"We  haven't  fine  gowns  covered  with  lace ;  we  don't  flour- 
ish our  sleeves  like  this;  we  don't  sit  so,  or  know  how  to 
look  on  one  side  and  wriggle  our  heads,"  said  Charlotte, 
imitating  and  caricaturing  the  Marquise's  airs  and  attitude 
and  looks.  "We  haven't  a  voice  with  a  squeak  in  the  head, 
or  a  little  interesting  cough,  lieugJi!  heugh!  like  the  sigh 
of  a  ghost;  we  are  so  unfortunate  as  to  have  robust  health 
and  be  fond  of  our  friends  without  any  nonsense;  when  we 
look  at  them  we  do  not  seem  to  be  stabbing  them  with  a  dart, 
or  examining  them  with  a  hypocritical  glance.  We  don't 
know  how  to  droop  our  heads  like  a  weeping  willow,  and  ap- 
pear quite  affable  merely  by  raising  it,  so !" 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  could  not  help  laughing  at  her 
niece's  performance ;  but  neither  the  Chevalier  nor  the  Baron 
understood  this  satire  of  the  country  on  Paris. 


BEATRIX  177 

"But  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide  is  very  handsome/'  said 
the  old  lady. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  Baroness  to  her  husband,  "I  happen 
to  know  that  she  is  going  to-morrow  to  le  Croisic;  we  will 
walk  down  there.  I  should  very  much  like  to  meet  her." 

While  Calyste  was  racking  his  brain  to  divine  why  the  door 
of  les  Touches  should  have  been  closed  in  his  face,  a  scene 
was  taking  place  between  the  two  friends  which  was  to  have 
its  effect  on  the  events  of  the  morrow.  Calyste's  letter  had 
given  birth  to  unknown  emotions  in  Madame  de  Rochefide's 
heart.  A  woman  is  not  often  the  object  of  a  passion  so 
youthful,  so  guileless,  so  sincere  and  absolute  as  was  this 
boy's.  Beatrix  had  loved  more  than  she  had  been  loved. 
After  being  a  slave  she  felt  an  unaccountable  longing  to  be 
the  tyrant  in  her  turn. 

In  the  midst  of  her  joy,  as  she  read  and  re-read  Calyste's 
letter,  a  cruel  thought  pierced  her  like  a  stab.  What  had 
Calyste  and  Camille  been  about  together  since  Claude  Vi- 
gnon's  departure  ?  If  Calyste  did  not  love  Camille,  and  Ca- 
mille knew  it,  what  did  they  do  in  those  long  mornings? 
The  memory  of  her  brain  insidiously  compared  this  remark 
with  all  Camille  had  said.  It  was  as  though  a  smiling  devil 
held  up  before  her,  as  in  a  mirror,  the  portrait  of  her  heroic 
friend,  with  certain  looks,  certain  gestures,  which  finally 
enlightened  Beatrix.  Far  from  being  Felicite's  equal,  she 
was  crushed  by  her;  far  from  deceiving  her,  it  was  she  who 
was  deceived ;  she  herself  was  but  a  toy  that  Camille  wanted 
to  give  the  child  she  loved  with  an  extraordinary  and  never 
vulgar  passion. 

To  a  woman  like  Beatrix  this  discovery  was  a  thunderbolt. 
She  recalled  every  detail  of  the  past  week.  In  an  instant 
Camille's  part  and  her  own  lay  before  her  in  their  fullest 
development;  she  saw  herself  strangely  abased.  In  the  rush 
of  her  jealous  hatred  she  fancied  she  detected  in  Camille  some 
plot  of  revenge  on  Conti.  All  the  events  of  the  past  two 
years  had  perhaps  led  up  to  these  two  weeks.  Once  started 
on  the  downward  slope  of  suspicions,  hypotheses,  and  anger, 


178  BEATRIX 

Beatrix  did  not  check  herself;  she  walked  up  and  down  her 
rooms,  spurred  by  impulses  of  passion,  or,  sitting  down  now 
and  again,  tried  to  make  a  plan;  still,  until  the  dinner-hour 
she  remained  a  prey  to  indecision,  and  only  went  down  when 
dinner  was  served  without  changing  her  dress. 

-  On  seeing  her  rival  come  in,  Camille  guessed  everything. 
Beatrix,  in  morning  dress,  had  a  cold  look  and  an  expression 
of  reserve,  which  to  an  observer  so  keen  as  Camille  betrayed 
the  animosity  of  embittered  feelings.  Camille  immediately 
left  the  room  and  gave  the  order  that  had  so  greatly  aston- 
ished Calyste;  she  thought  that  if  the  guileless  lad,  with 
his  insane  adoration,  came  into  the  middle  of  the  quarrel  he 
might  never  see  Beatrix  again,  and  compromise  the  future 
of  his  passion  by  some  foolish  bluntness.  She  meant  to  fight 
out  this  duel  of  dupery  without  any  witness.  Beatrix,  with 
no  one  to  uphold  her,  must  certainly  yield.  Camille  knew 
how  shallow  her  soul  was,  and  how  mean  her  pride,  to  which 
she  had  justly  given  the  name  of  obstinacy. 

The  dinner  was  gloomy.  Both  the  women  had  too  much 
spirit  and  good  taste  to  have  any  explanation  before  the 
servants,  or  when  they  might  listen  at  the  doors.  Camille 
was  gentle  and  kind;  she  felt  herself  so  much  the  superior! 
The  Marquise  was  hard  and  biting;  she  knew  she  was  being 
fooled  like  a  child.  There  was,  all  through  dinner,  a  war- 
fare of  looks,  shrugs,  half-spoken  words,  to  which  the  servants 
could  have  no  clue,  but  which  gave  warning  of  a  terrible 
storm.  When  they  were  going  upstairs  again  Camille  mis- 
chievously offered  Beatrix  her  arm;  the  Marquise  affected 
not  to  see,  and  rushed  forward  alone.  As  soon  as  coffee  was 
served,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  said  to  her  servant,  "You 
can  go,"  and  this  was  the  signal  for  battle. 

"The  romances  you  act  out,  my  dear,  are  rather  more 
dangerous  than  those  you  write,"  said  the  Marquise. 

"They  have,  however,  one  great  merit,"  said  Camille,  tak- 
ing a  cigarette. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Beatrix. 

"They  are  unpublished,  my  angel." 


BEATRIX  179 

"Will  that  in  which  you  have  plunged  me  make  a  book?" 
"I  have  no  genius  for  the  task  of  (Edipus;   you  have  the 

wit  and  beauty  of  the  Sphinx,  I  know,  but  do  not  ask  me  any 

riddles;   speak  out,  my  dear  Beatrix." 

"When,  in  order  to  make  men  happy,  to  amuse  them,  pleast 

them,  dispel  their  annoyances,  we  appeal  to  the  devil  to  help 

11O^_ _" 

"The  men  blame  us  afterwards  for  our  endeavor,  and  be- 
lieve it  to  be  dictated  by  a  spirit  of  depravity,"  said  Ca- 
mille,  taking  her  cigarette  from  her  lips  to  interrupt  her 
friend. 

"They  forget  the  love  which  carried  us  away,  and  which 
justified  our  excesses — for  whither  may  we  not  be  carried? — 
But  they  are  only  playing  out  their  part  as  men,  they  are  un- 
grateful and  unjust,"  said  Beatrix.  "Women  know  each 
other;  they  know  how  truly  lofty  and  noble  their  attitude 
is  under  all  circumstances — nay,  I  may  say  how  virtuous. 

"Still,  Camille,  I  have  begun  to  perceive  the  truth  of  cer- 
tain remarks  I  have  heard  you  complain  of.  Yes,  my  dear, 
there  is  something  of  the  man  in  you ;  you  behave  like  men ; 
nothing  checks  you;  and  if  you  have  not  all  their  merits, 
your  mind  conducts  itself  like  theirs,  and  you  share  their  con- 
tempt for  us  women.  I  have  no  reason  to  be  pleased  with 
you,  my  dear,  and  I  am  too  frank  to  conceal  the  fact.  No- 
body, perhaps,  will  ever  inflict  so  deep  a  wound  on  my  heart 
as  that  I  am  now  suffering  from.  Though  you  are  not  al- 
ways a  woman  in  love  matters,  you  become  one  again  in  re- 
venge. Only  a  woman  of  genius  could  have  discovered  the 
tenderest  spot  in  our  delicate  sentiments — I  am  speaking  of 
Calyste,  and  of  the  trickery,  my  dear,  for  that  is  the  right 
word,  that  you  have  employed  against  me.  How  low  you  have 
fallen,  you,  Camille  Maupin ;  and  to  what  end  ?" 

"Still  and  still  more  the  sphinx,"  said  Camille,  smiling. 

"You  wanted  to  make  me  throw  myself  at  Calyste's  head; 
I  am  still  too  young  for  such  doings.  To  me  love  is  love, 
with  its  intolerable  jealousy  and  despotic  demands.  I  am 
not  a  writer;  it  is  not  possible  to  me  to  find  ideas  in  feel- 
ings  » 


180  BEATRIX 

"You  think  yourself  capable  of  loving  foolishly  ?"  Camille 
asked  her.  "Be  quite  easy,  you  still  have  all  your  wits  about 
you.  You  malign  yourself,  my  dear;  you  are  cold  enough 
for  your  head  always  to  remain  supreme  judge  of  the  achieve- 
ments of  your  heart." 

This  epigram  brought  the  color  to  the  Marquise's  face; 
she  shot  a  look  full  of  hatred,  an  envenomed  look,  at  Camille ; 
and  at  once,  without  stopping  to  choose  them,  let  fly  all  the 
sharpest  arrows  in  her  quiver.  Camille,  smoking  her  cigar- 
ette, listened  calmly  to  this  furious  attack,  bristling  with 
such  virulent  abuse  that  it  is  impossible  to  record  it.  Beatrix, 
provoked  by  her  adversary's  imperturbable  manner,  fell  back 
on  odious  personalities  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches'  age. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Camille,  blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke. 
"Are  you  in  love  with  Calyste?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"So  much  the  better,"  replied  Camille.  "I  am,  and  far  too 
much  for  my  happiness.  He  has,  no  doubt,  a  fancy  for  you. 
You  are  the  loveliest  blonde  in  the  world,  and  I  am  as  brown 
as  a  mole;  you  are  slim  and  slender,  my  figure  is  too  dig- 
nified. In  short,  you  are  young;  that  is  the  great  fact,  and 
you  have  not  spared  me.  You  have  made  an  abuse  of  your 
advantages  over  me  as  a  woman,  neither  more  nor  less  than 
as  a  comic  paper  makes  an  abuse  of  humor.  I  have  done  all  in 
my  power  to  prevent  what  is  now  inevitable,"  and  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  the  ceiling.  "However  little  I  may  seem  to  be 
a  woman,  I  still  have  enough  of  the  woman  in  me  for  a  rival  to 
need  my  help  in  order  to  triumph  over  me !"  This  cruel  speech, 
uttered  with  an  air  of  perfect  innocence,  went  to  the  Mar- 
quise's heart.  "You  must  think  me  a  very  idiotic  person  if 
you  believe  all  that  Calyste  tries  to  make  you  believe  about 
me.  I  am  neither  lofty  nor  mean ;  I  am  a  woman,  and  very 
much  a  woman.  Throw  off  your  airs  and  give  me  your  hand," 
said  Camille,  taking  possession  of  Beatrix's  hand.  "You  do 
not  love  Calyste,  that  is  the  truth — is  it  not?  Then  do  not 
get  in  a  rage !  Be  stern  with  him  to-morrow,  cold  and  hard, 
and  he  will  end  by  submitting  after  the  scolding  I  shall  give 


BEATRIX  181 

him,  for  I  have  not  exhausted  the  resources  of  our  arsenal, 
and,  after  all,  pleasure  always  gets  the  better  of  desire. 

"But  Calyste  is  a  Breton.  If  he  persists  in  paying  you 
his  addresses,  tell  me  honestly,  and  you  can  go  at  once  to  a 
little  country-house  of  mine  at  six  leagues  from  Paris,  where 
you  will  find  every  comfort,  and  where  Conti  can  join  you. 
If  Calyste  slanders  me !  Why,  good  heavens !  The  purest 
love  lies  six  times  a  day;  its  illusions  prove  its  strength." 

There  was  a  proud  coldness  in  Camille's  expression  that 
made  the  Marquise  uneasy  and  afraid.  She  did  not  know 
what  answer  to  make. 

Camille  struck  the  final  blow. 

"I  am  more  trusting  and  less  bitter  than  you,"  she  went 
on.  "I  do  not  imagine  that  you  intended  to  hide  under  re- 
crimination an  attack  which  would  imperil  my  life ;  you  know 
me ;  I  should  not  survive  the  loss  of  Calyste,  and  I  must  lose 
him  sooner  or  later.  But,  indeed,  Calyste  loves  me,  and  I 
know  it." 

"Here  is  his  answer  to  a  letter  from  me  in  which  I  wrote 
only  of  you,"  said  Beatrix,  holding  out  Calyste's  letter. 

Camille  took  it  and  read  it.  As  she  read,  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears;  she  wept,  as  all  women  weep  in  acute  suffering. 

"Good  God !"  said  she.  "He  loves  her.  Then  I  must  die 
without  ever  having  been  understood  or  loved !" 

She  sat  for  some  minutes  with  her  head  resting  on  her 
friend's  shoulder ;  her  pain  was  genuine ;  she  felt  in  her  own 
soul  the  same  terrible  blow  that  Madame  du  Guenic  had  re- 
ceived on  reading  this  letter. 

"Do  you  love  him?"  said  she,  sitting  up  and  looking  at 
Beatrix.  "Do  you  feel  for  him  that  infinite  devotion  which 
triumphs  over  all  suffering,  and  survives  scorn,  betrayal,  even 
the  certainty  of  never  being  loved  again?  Do  you  love  him 
for  himself,  for  the  very  joy  of  loving?" 

"My  dearest  friend !"  said  the  Marquise,  much  moved. 
"Well,  be  content,  I  will  leave  to-morrow." 

"Do  not  go  away ;  he  loves  you,  I  see  it !  And  I  love 
him  so  well  that  I  should  be  in  despair  if  I  saw  him  miserable 


182  BEATRIX 

and  unhappy.  I  had  dreamed  of  many  things  for  him;  but 
if  he  loves  you,  that  is  all  at  an  end/' 

"Yes,  Camille,  I  love  him,"  said  the  Marquise  with  de- 
lightful simplicity,  but  coloring. 

"You  love  him,  and  you  can  resist  him !"  cried  Camille. 
"No,  you  do  not  love  him  I" 

"I  do  not  know  what  new  virtues  he  has  aroused  in  me, 
but  he  has  certainly  made  me  ashamed  of  myself,"  said 
Beatrix.  "I  could  wish  to  be  virtuous  and  free,  so  as  to 
have  something  else  to  sacrifice  to  him  besides  the  remnants 
of  a  heart  and  disgraceful  bonds.  I  will  not  accept  an  incom- 
plete destiny  either  for  him  or  for  myself." 

"Cold  brain !  it  can  love  and  calculate !"  cried  Camille, 
with  a  sort  of  horror. 

"Whatever  you  please,  but  I  will  not  blight  his  life  or  be 
a  stone  round  his  neck,  an  everlasting  regret.  As  I  cannot 
be  his  wife,  I  will  not  be  his  mistress.  He  has — you  will  not 
laugh  at  me?  No? — Well,  then,  his  beautiful  love  has  puri- 
fied me." 

Camille  gave  Beatrix  a  look — the  wildest,  fiercest  look  that 
ever  a  jealous  woman  flung  at  her  rival. 

"On  that  ground/'  said  she,  "I  fancied  I  stood  alone. 
Beatrix,  that  speech  has  parted  us  for  ever ;  we  are  no  longer 
friends.  We  are  at  the  beginning  of  a  hideous  struggle. 
Now,  I  tell  you  plainly,  you  must  succumb  or  fly/' 

Felicite  rushed  away  into  her  own  room  after  showing  to 
Beatrix,  who  was  amazed,  a  face  like  an  infuriated  lioness. 

"Are  you  coming  to  le  Croisic  to-morrow?"  said  Camille, 
lifting  the  curtain. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Marquise,  loftily;  "I  will  not  fly — 
nor  will  I  succumb." 

"I  play  with  my  hand  on  the  table,"  retorted  Camille ;  "I 
shall  write  to  Conti." 

Beatrix  turned  as  white  as  her  gauze  scarf. 

"For  each  of  us  life  is  at  stake,"  replied  Beatrix,  who  did 
not  know  what  to  decide  on. 

The  violent  passions  lo  which  this  scene  had  given  rise  be- 


BEATRIX  183 

tween  the  two  women  subsided  during  the  night.  They  both 
reasoned  with  themselves,  and  came  back  to  a  reliance  on 
the  perfidious  temporizing  which  fascinates  most  women — 
an  excellent  system  between  them  and  men,  but  a  bad  one 
between  woman  and  woman.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this 
last  storm  that  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  heard  the  great 
voice  which  dominates  even  the  bravest.  Beatrix  listened  to 
the  counsels  of  worldly  wisdom;  she  feared  the  contempt  of 
society.  So  Felicite's  last  masterstroke,  weighted  with  the 
accents  of  intense  jealousy,  was  perfectly  successful.  Ca- 
lyste's  blunder  was  remedied,  but  any  fresh  mistake  might 
ruin  his  hopes  for  ever. 

The  month  of  August  was  drawing  to  a  close,  the  sky  was 
magnificently  clear.  On  the  horizon  the  ocean,  like  a  south- 
ern sea,  had  a  hue  as  of  molten  silver,  and  fluttered  to  the 
strand  in  sparkling  ripples.  A  sort  of  glistening  vapor,  pro- 
duced by  the  sun's  rays  falling  directly  on  the  sand,  made 
an  atmosphere  at  least  equal  to  that  of  the  tropics.  The 
salt  blossomed  into  little  white  stars  on  the  surface  of  the 
salt-pans.  The  laborious  marshmen,  dressed  in  white  on  pur- 
pose to  defy  the  heat  of  the  sun,  were  at  their  post  by  day- 
break armed  with  their  long  rakes,  some  leaning  against  the 
mud-walls  dividing  the  plots,  and  watching  this  process  of 
natural  chemistry,  familiar  to  them  from  their  infancy; 
others  playing  with  their  little  ones  and  wives.  Those  green 
dragons  called  excise-men  smoked  their  pipes  in  peace.  There 
was  something  Oriental  in  the  picture,  and  certainly  a  Pa- 
risian, suddenly  dropped  there,  would  not  have  believed  that 
he  was  in  France. 

The  Baron  and  Baroness,  who  had  made  a  pretext  of  their 
wish  to  see  how  the  salt-raking  was  going  on,  were  on  the 
jetty,  admiring  the  silent  scene,  where  no  sound  was  to  be 
heard  but  the  sea  moaning  with  regular  rhythm,  where  boats 
cut  through  the  water,  and  the  green  belt  of  cultivated  land 
was  all  the  more  lovely  in  its  effect  because  it  is  so  uncommon 
on  the  desert  shores  of  the  ocean. 


184  BEATEIX 

"Well,  my  friends,  I  shall  have  seen  the  marshes  of  Gue- 
rande  once  more  before  I  die,"  said  the  Baron  to  the  marsh- 
men,  who  stood  in  groups  at  the  fringe  of  the  marsh  to  greet 
him. 

"As  if  the  du  Guenics  died !"  said  one  of  the  men. 

At  this  moment  the  little  party  from  les  Touches  came 
down  the  narrow  road.  The  Marquise  led  the  way  alone, 
Calyste  and  Camille  followed  arm-in-arm.  About  twenty 
yards  behind  them  came  Gasselin. 

"There  are  my  father  and  mother,"  said  Calyste  to  Ca- 
mille. 

The  Marquise  stopped.  Madame  du  Guenic  felt  the  most 
vehement  repulsion  at  the  sight  of  Beatrix,  though  she  was 
dressed  to  advantage,  in  a  broad-brimmed  Leghorn  hat  trim- 
med with  blue  cornflowers,  her  hair  waved  beneath  it ;  a  dress 
of  gray  linen  stuff,  and  a  blue  sash  with  long  ends ;  in  short, 
the  garb  of  a  princess  disguised  as  a  shepherdess. 

"She  has  no  heart !"  said  Fanny  to  herself. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Calyste  to  Camille,  "here  are  Madame 
du  Guenic  and  my  father." 

Then  he  added  to  his  parents: 

"Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and  Madame  la  Marquise  de 
Rochefide,  nee  de  Casteran — my  father." 

The  Baron  bowed  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  bowed 
with  an  air  of  humble  gratitude  to  the  Baroness. 

"She,"  thought  Fanny,  "really  loves  my  boy;  she  seems 
to  be  thanking  me  for  having  brought  him  into  the  world." 

"You,  like  me,  are  come  to  see  if  the  yield  is  good;  but 
you  have  more  reasons  than  I  for  curiosity,  mademoiselle," 
said  the  Baron  to  Camille,  "for  you  have  property  here." 

"Mademoiselle  is  the  richest  owner  of  them  all,"  said  one 
of  the  marshmen;  "and  God  preserve  her,  for  she  is  a  very 
good  lady!" 

The  two  parties  bowed  and  went  their  way. 

"You  would  never  suppose  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to 
be  more  than  thirty,"  said  the  good  man  to  his  wife.  "She 
is  very  handsome.  And  Calyste  prefers  that  jade  of  a  Pa 
risian  Marquise  to  that  good  daughter  of  Brittany  ?" 


BEATRIX  185 

"Alas,  yes !"  said  the  Baroness. 

A  boat  was  lying  at  the  end  of  the  jetty ;  they  got  in,  but 
not  in  high  spirits.  Beatrix  was  cold  and  dignified.  Ca- 
mille  had  scolded  Calyste  for  his  disobedience,  and  explained 
to  him  the  position  of  his  love  affair.  Calyste,  sunk  in 
gloomy  despair,  cast  eyes  at  Beatrix,  in  which  love  and 
hatred  struggled  for  the  upper  hand. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  during  the  short  passage  from  the 
jetty  of  Guerande  to  the  extreme  point  of  the  harbor  of  le 
Croisic,  the  spot  where  the  salt  is  shipped,  being  brought 
down  to  the  shore  by  women  in  large  earthen  pans,  which 
they  carry  on  their  heads,  holding  them  in  such  a  way  as  to 
look  like  caryatides.  These  women  are  barefoot,  and  wear 
a  very  short  skirt.  Many  of  them  leave  the  kerchief  that 
covers  their  shoulders  to  fly  loose,  and  several  wear  only  a 
shift,  and  are  the  proudest,  for  the  less  clothes  they  wear  the 
more  they  display  their  modest  beauties. 

The  little  Danish  bark  was  taking  in  her  cargo.  Thus 
the  landing  of  these  two  beautiful  ladies  excited  the  curiosity 
of  the  salt-carriers ;  and  partly  to  escape  them,  as  well  as  to 
do  Calyste  a  service,  Camille  hurried  on  towards  the  rocks, 
leaving  him  with  Beatrix.  Gasselin  lingered  at  least  two 
hundred  yards  behind  his  master. 

On  the  seaward  side  the  peninsula  of  le  Croisic  is  fringed 
with  granite  rocks  so  singularly  grotesque  in  form  that  they 
can  only  be  appreciated  by  travelers  who  are  able  from  ex- 
perience to  make  comparisons  between  the  different  grand 
spectacles  of  wild  nature.  The  rocks  of  le  Croisic  have,  per- 
haps, the  same  superiority  over  other  similar  scenes  that  the 
road  to  the  Grande  Chartreuse  is  admitted  to  have  over  other 
narrow  gorges.  Neither  the  Corsican  shore,  where  the  gran- 
ite forms  very  remarkable  reefs,  nor  that  of  Sardinia,  where 
nature  has  reveled  in  grand  and  terrible  effects,  nor  the  ba- 
saltic formations  of  northern  seas,  have  quite  so  distinctive  a 
character.  Fancy  seems  to  have  disported  itself  there  in  end- 
less arabesques,  where  the  most  grotesque  shapes  mingle  or 
stand  forth.  Every  form  may  be  seen  there.  Imagination 
may,  perhaps,  be  weary  of  this  vast  collection  of  monsters, 


186  BEATRIX 

among  which,  in  furious  weather,  the  sea  rushes  in,  and  has 
at  last  polished  down  all  the  rough  edges. 

Under  a  natural  vault,  arched  with  a  boldness  only  faintly 
imitated  by  Brunelleschi — for  the  greatest  efforts  of  art  are 
but  a  timid  counterpart  of  some  work  of  nature — you  will 
find  a  basin  polished  like  a  marble  bath,  and  strewn  with 
smooth,  fine  white  sand,  in  which  you  may  bathe  in  safety 
in  four  feet  of  tepid  water.  As  you  walk  on  you  admire 
the  cool  little  creeks,  under  shelter  of  porticoes  rough-hewn 
but  stately,  like  those  of  the  Pitti  palace — another  imitation 
of  the  freaks  of  nature.  The  variety  is  infinite;  nothing  is 
lacking  that  the  most  extravagant  fancy  could  invent  or 
wish  for. 

There  is  even  a  large  shrub  of  box,*  a  thing  so  rare  on 
the  shore  of  the  Atlantic  that  perhaps  this  is  the  only  speci- 
men. This  box-shrub,  the  greatest  curiosity  in  le  Croisic, 
where  trees  cannot  grow,  is  at  about  a  league  from  the  port, 
on  the  utmost  headland  of  the  coast.  On  one  of  the  promon- 
tories formed  by  the  granite,  rising  so  high  above  the  sea 
that  the  waves  cannot  reach  it  even  in  the  wildest  storms, 
and  facing  the  south,  the  floods  have  worn  a  hollow  shelf 
about  four  feet  deep.  In  this  cleft,  chance,  or  perhaps  man, 
has  deposited  soil  enough  to  enable  a  box,  sown  by  some  bird, 
to  grow  thick  and  closely  shorn.  The  gnarled  roots  would 
indicate  an  age  of  at  least  three  hundred  years.  Below  it 
the  rock  falls  sheer. 

Some  shock,  of  which  the  traces  are  stamped  in  indelible 
characters  on  this  coast,  has  swept  off  the  fragments  of  gran- 
ite I  know  not  whither.  The  sea  comes,  without  breaking 
over  any  shoals,  to  the  bottom  of  this  cliff,  where  the  water  is 
more  than  five  hundred  feet  deep.  On  either  hand  some 
reefs,  just  beneath  the  surface,  form  a  sort  of  large  cirque, 
traceable  by  the  foaming  breakers.  It  needs  some  courage 
and  resolution  to  climb  to  the  top  of  this  little  Gibraltar; 
its  cap  is  almost  spherical,  and  a  gust  of  wind  might  carry 
the  inquirer  into  the  sea,  or,  which  would  be  worse,  on  to 

*  Buis,  "  whence  (says  Balzac)  the  word  bmsson,"  shrub  or  bush. 


BEATRIX  187 

the  rocks  below.  This  giant  sentinel  is  like  the  lantern  tow- 
ers of  old  chateaux,  whence  miles  of  country  could  be  scanned 
and  attacks  guarded  against;  from  its  height  are  seen  the 
steeple  and  the  thrifty  fields  of  le  Croisic,  the  sand-hills  that 
threaten  to  encroach  on  the  arable  land,  and  which  have  in- 
vaded the  neighborhood  of  le  Bourg  de  Batz.  Some  old  men 
declare  that  there  was,  long  ago,  a  castle  on  this  spot.  The 
sardine  fishers  have  a  name  for  this  headland,  which  can  be 
seen  from  afar  at  sea;  but  I  must  be  forgiven  for  having 
forgotten  that  Breton  name,  as  hard  to  pronounce  as  it  is  to 
remember. 

Calyste  led  Beatrix  towards  this  height,  whence  the  view 
is  superb,  and  where  the  forms  of  the  granite  surpass  all  the 
surprises  they  can  have  caused  along  the  sandy  margin  of  the 
shore. 

It  is  vain  to  explain  why  Camille  had  hurried  on  in 
front;  like  a  wounded  animal,  she  longed  for  solitude;  she 
lost  herself  in  the  grottoes,  reappeared  on  the  boulders,  chased 
the  crabs  out  of  their  holes,  or  discovered  them  in  the  very 
act  of  their  eccentric  behavior.  Not  to  be  inconvenienced 
by  her  women's  skirts,  she  had  put  on  Turkish  trousers  with 
embroidered  frills,  a  short  blouse,  and  a  felt  hat;  and,  by 
way  of  a  traveler's  staff,  she  carried  a  riding-whip,  for  she  was 
always  vain  of  her  strength  and  agility.  Thus  attired,  she 
was  a  hundred  times  handsomer  than  Beatrix;  she  had  tied 
a  little  red  China  silk  shawl  across  her  bosom  and  knotted 
behind,  as  we  wrap  a  child.  For  some  little  time  Beatrix 
and  Calyste  saw  her  flitting  over  rocks  and  rifts  like  a  will- 
o'-the-wisp,  trying  to  stultify  grief  by  facing  perils. 

She  was  the  first  to  arrive  at  the  box  cliff,  and  sat  down  in 
the  shade  of  one  of  the  clefts,  lost  in  meditation.  What  could 
such  a  woman  as  she  do  in  old  age,  after  drinking  the  cup  of 
fame  which  all  great  talents,  too  greedy  to  sip  the  dull  drib- 
lets of  vanity,  drain  at  one  draught  ?  She  has  since  confessed 
that  then  and  there,  one  of  the  coincidences  suggested  by  a 
mere  trifle,  by  one  of  the  accidents  which  count  for  nothing 
with  ordinary  people,  though  they  open  a  gulf  of  meditation 


188  BEATRIX 

to  a  great  soul,  brought  her  to  a  decision  as  to  the  strange 
deed,  which  was  afterwards  the  close  of  her  social  career.  She 
drew  out  of  her  pocket  a  little  box  in  which  she  had  brought, 
in  case  of  thirst,  some  strawberry  pastilles;  she  ate  several; 
but  as  she  sucked  them,  she  could  not  help  reflecting  that  the 
strawberries,  which  were  no  more,  yet  lived  by  their  qualities. 
Hence  she  concluded  that  it  might  be  the  same  with  us.  The 
sea  offered  her  an  image  of  the  infinite.  No  great  mind  can 
get  away  from  the  infinite,  granting  the  immortality  of  the 
soul,  without  being  brought  to  infer  some  religious  future. 
This  idea  still  haunted  her  when  she  smelt  at  her  scent-bottle 
of  Eau  de  Portugal. 

Her  manoeuvres  for  handing  Beatrix  over  to  Calyste  then 
struck  her  as  very  sordid ;  she  felt  the  woman  die  in  her,  and 
she  emerged  the  noble  angelic  being  hitherto  veiled  in  the  flesh. 
Her  vast  intellect,  her  learning,  her  acquirements,  her  spuri- 
ous loves  had  brought  her  face  to  face  with  what  ?  Who  could 
have  foretold  it  ?  With  the  yearning  mother,  the  consoler  of 
the  sorrowing — the  Roman  Church,  so  mild  towards  repent- 
ance, so  poetical  to  poets,  so  artless  with  children,  so  deep  and 
mysterious  to  wild  and  anxious  spirits,  that  they  can  for  ever 
plunge  deeper  into  it  and  still  satisfy  their  inextinguishable 
curiosity,  which  is  constantly  excited. 

She  glanced  back  at  the  devious  ways  to  which  she  had  been 
led  by  Calyste,  comparing  them  to  the  tortuous  paths  among 
these  rocks.  Calyste  was  still  in  her  eyes  the  lovely  messenger 
from  heaven,  a  divine  leader.  She  smothered  earthly  in 
sacred  love. 

After  walking  on  for  some  time  in  silence,  Calyste,  at  an 
exclamation  from  Beatrix  at  the  beauty  of  the  ocean,  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  Mediterranean,  could  not  resist  drawing  a 
comparison  between  that  sea  and  his  love,  in  its  purity  and 
extent,  its  agitations,  its  depth,  its  eternity. 

"It  has  a  rock  for  its  shore,"  said  Beatrix  with  a  laugh. 

"When  you  speak  to  me  in  that  tone,"  replied  he  with  a 
heavenly  flash,  "I  see  you  and  hear  you,  and  I  can  find  an  an- 
gel's patience;  but  when  I  am  alone,  you  would  pity  me  if 
you  could  see  me.  My  mother  cries  over  my  grief." 


BEATRIX  189 

"Listen,  Calyste,  this  must  come  to  an  end,"  said  the  Mar- 
quise, stepping  down  on  to  the  sandy  path.  "Perhaps  we  are 
now  in  the  one  propitious  spot  for  the  utterance  of  such  things, 
for  never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  one  where  nature  was  more  in 
harmony  with  my  thoughts.  I  have  seen  Italy,  where  every- 
thing speaks  of  love;  I  have  seen  Switzerland,  where  all  is 
fresh  and  expressive  of  true  happiness,  laborious  happiness, 
where  the  verdure,  the  calm  waters,  the  most  placid  outlines 
are  overpowered  by  the  snow-crowned  Alps;  but  I  have  seen 
nothing  which  more  truly  paints  the  scorching  barrenness  of 
my  life  than  this  little  plain,  withered  by  sea-gales,  corroded 
by  salt  mists,  where  melancholy  tillage  struggles  in  the  face 
of  the  immense  ocean  and  under  the  hedgerows  of  Brittany, 
whence  rise  the  towers  of  your  Guerande. 

"Well,  Calyste,  that  is  Beatrix.  Do  not  attach  yourself  to 
that.  I  love  you,  but  I  will  never  be  yours,  for  I  am  conscious 
of  my  inward  desolation.  Ah !  you  can  never  know  how  cruel 
I  am  to  myself  when  I  tell  you  this.  No,  you  shall  never  see 
your  idol — if  I  am  your  idol — stoop ;  it  shall  not  fall  from  the 
height  where  you  have  set  it.  I  have  now  a  horror  of  a  pas- 
sion which  the  world  and  religion  alike  reprobate;  I  will  be 
humbled  no  more,  nor  will  I  steal  happiness.  I  shall  remain 
where  I  am;  I  shall  be  the  sandy,  unfertile  desert,  without 
verdure  or  flowers,  which  lies  before  you." 

"And  if  you  should  be  deserted  ?"  said  Calyste. 

"Then  I  should  go  and  beg  for  mercy.  I  would  humble  my- 
self before  the  man  I  have  sinned  against,  but  I  would  never 
run  the  risk  of  rushing  into  happiness  which  I  know  would 
end." 

"End?"  cried  Calyste. 

"End,"  repeated  the  Marquise,  interrupting  the  rhapsody 
into  which  her  lover  was  plunging,  by  a  tone  which  reduced 
him  to  silence. 

This  contradiction  gave  rise  in  the  youth's  soul  to  one  of 
those  wordless  rages  which  are  known  only  to  those  who  have 
loved  without  hope.  He  and  Beatrix  walked  on  for  about 
three  hundred  yards  in  utter  silence,  looking  neither  at  the 
sea,  nor  the  rocks,  nor  the  fields  of  le  Croisic. 


190  BEATRIX 

"I  should  make  you  so  happy !"  said  Calyste. 

"All  men  begin  by  promising  us  happiness,  and  they  be- 
queath to  us  shame,  desertion,  disgust.  I  have  nothing  of 
which  to  accuse  the  man  to  whom  I  ought  to  be  faithful ;  he 
made  me  no  promises;  I  went  to  him.  But  the  only  way  to 
make  my  fault  less  is  to  make  it  eternal." 

"Say  at  once,  madame,  that  you  do  not  love  me!  I  who 
love  you,  know  by  myself  that  love  does  not  argue,  it  sees  noth- 
ing but  itself,  there  is  no  sacrifice  I  could  not  make  for  it. 
Command  me,  and  I  will  attempt  the  impossible.  The  man 
who,  of  old,  scorned  his  mistress  for  having  thrown  her  glove 
to  the  lions  and  commanding  him  to  rescue  it,  did  not  love ! 
He  misprized  your  right  to  test  us,  to  make  sure  of  our  love, 
and  never  to  lay  down  your  arms  but  to  superhuman  magna- 
nimity. To  you  I  would  sacrifice  my  family,  my  name,  my 
future  life." 

"What  an  insult  lies  in  that  word  sacrifice !"  replied  she  in 
a  reproachful  tone,  which  made  Calyste  feel  all  the  folly  of  his 
expression. 

Only  women  who  love  wholly,  or  utter  coquettes,  can  take 
a  word  as  a  fulcrum,  and  spring  to  prodigious  heights ;  wit  and 
feeling  act  on  the  same  lines;  but  the  woman  who  loves  is 
grieved,  the  coquette  is  contemptuous. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Calyste,  dropping  two  tears,  "the 
word  can  only  be  applied  to  the  achievement  you  demand  of 
me." 

"Be  silent,"  said  Beatrix,  startled  by  a  reply  in  which  for 
the  first  time  Calyste  really  expressed  his  love.  "I  have  done 
wrong  enough. — Do  not  tempt  me." 

They  had  just  reached  the  base  of  the  box-cliff.  Calyste 
felt  intoxicating  joys  in  helping  the  Marquise  to  climb  the 
rock;  she  was  bent  on  mounting  to  the  very  top.  The  poor 
boy  thought  it  the  height  of  rapture  to  support  her  by  the 
waist,  to  feel  her  slightly  tremulous :  she  needed  him !  The 
unhoped-for  joy  turned  his  brain,  he  saw  nothing,  he  put  his 
arm  round  her  body. 

"Well !"  said  she  with  an  imperious  look. 


'  Open  your  eyes,  forgive  me .'"  said  Calyste,  "  or  we  die  together" 


BEATRIX  191 

"You  will  never  be  mine  ?"  he  asked  in  a  voice  choked  by  a 
storm  in  his  blood. 

"Never,  my  dear/'  said  she.  "To  you  I  can  only  be  Beatrix 
— a  dream.  And  is  not  a  dream  sweet?  We  shall  know  no 
bitterness,  no  regrets,  no  repentance." 

"And  you  will  return  to  Conti  ?" 

"There  is  no  help  for  it." 

"Then  you  shall  never  more  be  any  man's,"  cried  Calyste, 
flinging  her  from  him  with  mad  violence. 

He  listened  for  her  fall  before  throwing  himself  after  her, 
but  he  only  heard  a  dull  noise,  the  harsh  rending  of  stuff,  and 
the  heavy  sound  of  a  body  falling  on  earth.  Instead  of  tum- 
bling headforemost,  Beatrix  had  turned  over;  she  had  fallen 
into  the  box-tree;  but  she  would  have  rolled  to  the  bottom 
of  the  sea  nevertheless  if  her  gown  had  not  caught  on  a  cor- 
ner, and,  by  tearing,  checked  the  force  of  her  fall  on  the  bush. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  had  witnessed  the  scene, 
could  not  call  out,  for  she  was  aghast,  and  could  only  signal 
to  Gasselin  to  hasten  up.  Calyste  leaned  over,  prompted  by  a 
fierce  sort  of  curiosity;  he  saw  Beatrix  as  she  lay,  and  shud- 
dered. She  seemed  to  be  praying ;  she  thought  she  must  die, 
she  felt  the  box-tree  giving  away.  With  the  sudden  presence  of 
mind  inspired  by  love,  and  the  supernatural  agility  of  youth 
in  the  face  of  danger,  he  let  himself  down  the  nine  feet  of  rock 
by  his  hands,  clinging  to  the  rough  edges,  to  the  little  shelf, 
where  he  was  in  time  to  rescue  the  Marquise  by  taking  her  in 
his  arms,  at  the  risk  of  their  both  falling  into  the  sea.  When  he 
caught  Beatrix  she  became  unconscious;  but  he  could  dream 
that  she  was  his,  wholly  his,  in  this  aerial  bed  where  they 
might  have  to  remain  a  long  time,  and  his  first  feeling  was  an 
impulse  of  gladness. 

"Open  your  eyes,  forgive  me !"  said  Calyste.  "Or  we  die 
together." 

"Die?"  said  she,  opening  her  eyes,  and  unsealing  her  pale 
lips. 

Calyste  received  the  word  with  a  kiss,  and  then  was  aware 
of  a  spasmodic  thrill  in  the  Marquise,  which  was  ecstasy  to 


192  BEATRIX 

him.  At  that  instant  Gasselin's  nailed  shoes  were  audible 
above  them.  Camille  followed  the  Breton,  and  they  were 
anxiously  considering  the  means  of  saving  the  lovers. 

"There  is  but  one  way,  mademoiselle/'  said  Gasselin.  "I 
will  let  myself  down ;  they  will  climb  up  on  my  shoulders,  and 
you  will  give  them  your  hand." 

"And  you  ?"  said  Camille. 

The  man  seemed  astonished  at  being  held  of  any  account 
when  his  young  master  was  in  danger. 

"It  will  be  better  to  fetch  a  ladder  from  le  Croisic,"  said 
Camille. 

"She  is  a  knowing  one,  she  is !"  said  Gasselin  to  himself, 
as  he  went  off.  Beatrix,  in  a  feeble  voice,  begged  to  be  laid  on 
the  ground ;  she  felt  faint.  Calyste  laid  her  down  on  the  cool 
earth  between  the  rock  and  the  box-tree. 

"I  saw  you,  Calyste,"  said  Camille.  "Whether  Beatrix  dies 
or  is  saved,  this  must  never  be  anything  but  an  accident." 

"She  will  hate  me  !"  he  cried,  his  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"She  will  worship  you,"  replied  Camille.  "This  is  an  end 
to  our  excursion ;  she  must  be  carried  to  les  Touches. — What 
would  have  become  of  you  if  she  had  been  killed  ?"  she  said. 

"I  should  have  followed  her." 

"And  your  mother? — and,"  she  softly  added  after  a  pause, 
"and  me?" 

Calyste  stood  pale,  motionless,  and  silent,  his  back  against 
the  granite.  Gasselin  very  soon  returned  from  one  of  the  lit- 
tle farms  that  lie  scattered  among  the  fields,  running  with  a 
ladder  he  had  borrowed.  Beatrix  had  somewhat  recovered  her 
strength.  When  Gasselin  had  fixed  the  ladder,  the  Marquise, 
helped  by  Gasselin,  who  begged  Calyste  to  put  Camille's  red 
shawl  round  Beatrix  under  her  arms,  and  to  give  him  up  the 
ends,  climbed  up  to  the  little  plateau,  where  Gasselin  took  her 
in  his  arms  like  a  child,  and  carried  her  down  to  the  shore. 

"Death  I  would  not  say  nay  to — but  pain !"  said  she  in  a 
weak  voice  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

The  faintness  and  shock  from  which  Beatrix  was  suffering 
made  it  necessary  that  she  should  be  carried  as  far  as  the  farm 
whence  Gasselin  had  borrowed  the  ladder.  Calyste,  Gasselin, 


BEATRIX  193 

and  Camille  took  off  such  garments  as  they  could  dispense 
with,  and  made  a  sort  of  mattress  on  the  ladder,  on  which 
they  laid  Beatrix,  carrying  it  like  a  litter.  The  farm-people 
offered  their  bed.  Gasselin  hurried  off  to  the  spot  where  the 
horses  were  waiting  for  them,  took  one,  and  fetched  a  surgeon 
from  le  Croisic,  after  ordering  the  boatmen  to  come  up  the 
creek  that  lay  nearest  to  the  farm.  Calyste,  sitting  on  a  low 
stool,  answered  Camille's  remarks  with  nods  and  rare  mono- 
syllables, and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  equally  uneasy 
as  to  Beatrix's  condition  and  Calyste's. 

After  being  bled,  the  patient  felt  better ;  she  could  speak ; 
she  consented  to  go  in  the  boat ;  and  at  about  five  in  the  after- 
noon they  crossed  to  Guerande,  where  the  town  doctor  was 
waiting  for  her.  The  news  of  the  accident  had  spread  in  this 
deserted  and  almost  uninhabited  land  with  amazing  rapidity.. 

Calyste  spent  the  night  at  les  Touches  at  the  foot  of  Bea- 
trix's bed  with  Camille.  The  doctor  promised  that  by  next 
morning  the  Marquise  would  suffer  from  nothing  worse  than 
stiffness.  Through  Calyste's  despair  a  great  happiness 
beamed.  He  was  at  the  foot  of  Beatrix's  bed  watching  her 
asleep  or  waking;  he  could  study  her  pale  face,  her  lightest 
movements.  Camille  smiled  bitterly  as  she  recognized  in  the 
lad  all  the  symptoms  of  a  passion  such  as  tinges  the  soul  and 
mind  of  a  man  by  becoming  a  part  of  his  life  at  a  time  when 
no  thought,  no  cares  counteract  this  torturing  mental  process. 

Calyste  would  never  discern  the  real  woman  in  Beatrix. 
How  guilelessly  did  the  young  Breton  allow  her  to  read  his 
most  secret  soul ! — Why,  he  fancied  she  was  his,  merely  be- 
cause he  found  himself  here,  in  her  room,  admiring  her  in  the 
disorder  of  the  bed.  He  watched  Beatrix  in  her  slightest 
movement  with  rapturous  attention;  his  face  expressed  such 
sweet  curiosity,  his  ecstasy  was  so  artlessly  betrayed,  that  there 
was  a  moment  when  the  two  women  looked  at  each  other  with 
a  smile.  As  Calyste  read  in  the  invalid's  fine  sea-green  eyes 
a  mixed  expression  of  confusion,  love,  and  amusement,  he 
blushed  and  lookea 


194  BEATRIX 

"Did  I  not  say  to  you,  Calyste,  that  you  men  promised  us 
happiness  and  ended  by  throwing  us  over  a  precipice  ?" 

As  he  heard  this  little  jest,  spoken  in  a  charming  tone  of 
voice,  which  betrayed  some  change  in  Beatrix's  heart,  Calyste 
knelt  down,  took  one  of  her  moist  hands,  which  she  allowed 
him  to  hold,  and  kissed  it  very  submissively. 

"You  have  every  right  to  reject  my  love  for  ever,"  said  he, 
"and  I  have  no  right  ever  to  say  a  single  word  to  you  again." 

"Ah !"  cried  Camille,  as  she  saw  the  expression  of  her 
friend's  face,  and  compared  it  with  that  she  had  seen  after 
every  effort  of  diplomacy ;  "love  unaided  will  always  have  more 
wit  than  all  the  world  beside. — Take  your  draught,  my  dear, 
and  go  to  sleep." 

This  evening  spent  by  Calyste  with  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  who  read  books  on  mystical  theology,  while  Calyste 
read  Indiana — the  first  work  of  Camille's  famous  rival,  in 
which  he  found  the  captivating  picture  of  a  young  man  who 
loved  with  idolatry  and  devotion,  with  mysterious  rapture,  and 
for  his  whole  life — a  book  of  fatal  teaching  for  him! — this 
evening  left  an  ineffaceable  mark  on  the  heart  of  the  unhappy 
youth,  for  Felicite  at  last  convinced  him  that  any  woman  who 
was  not  a  monster  could  only  be  happy  and  nattered  in  every 
vanity,  by  knowing  herself  to  be  the  object  of  a  crime. 

"You  would  never,  never,  have  thrown  me  into  the  sea !" 
said  poor  Camille,  wiping  away  a  tear. 

Towards  morning  Calyste,  quite  worn  out,  fell  asleep  in  his 
chair.  It  was  now  the  Marquise's  turn  to  look  at  the  pretty 
boy,  pale  with  agitation  and  his  first  love- watch;  she  heard 
him  murmuring  words  in  his  sleep. 

"He  loves  in  his  very  dreams !"  said  she  to  Camille. 

"We  must  send  him  home  to  bed,"  said  Felicite,  awaking 
him. 

No  one  was  alarmed  at  the  du  Guenics';  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  had  written  a  few  words  to  the  Baroness. 

Calyste  dined  at  les  Touches  next  day.  He  found  Beatrix 
up,  pale,  languid,  and  tired.  But  there  was  no  hardness  now 
in  her  speech  or  looks.  After  that  evening,  which  Camille 


BEATRIX  195 

filled  with  music,  seating  herself  at  the  piano  to  allow  Calyste 
to  hold  and  press  Beatrix's  hands  while  they  could  say  nothing 
to  each  other,  there  was  never  a  storm  at  les  Touches.  Feli- 
cite  completely  effaced  herself. 

Women  like  Madame  de  Eochefide,  cold,  fragile,  hard,  and 
thin — such  women,  whose  throat  shows  a  form  of  collar-bone 
suggestive  of  the  feline  race — have  souls  as  pale  and  colorless 
as  their  pale  gray  or  green  eyes ;  to  melt  them,  to  vitrify  these 
flints,  a  thunderbolt  is  needed.  To  Beatrix  this  thunderbolt 
had  fallen  in  Calyste's  rage  of  love  and  attempt  on  her  life; 
it  was  such  a  flame  as  nothing  can  resist,  changing  the  most 
stubborn  nature.  Beatrix  felt  herself  softened;  pure  and 
true  love  flooded  her  soul  with  its  soothing  lapping  glow.  She 
floated  in  a  mild  and  tender  atmosphere  of  feeling  hitherto 
unknown,  in  which  she  felt  ennobled,  elevated;  she  had  en- 
tered into  the  heaven  where,  in  all  ages,  woman  has  dwelt, 
in  Brittany.  She  enjoyed  the  respectful  worship  of  this  boy, 
whose  happiness  cost  her  so  little ;  for  a  smile,  a  look,  a  word 
was  enough  for  Calyste.  Such  value  set  by  feeling  on  such 
trifles  touched  her  extremely.  To  this  angelic  soul,  the  glove 
she  had  worn  could  be  more  than  her  whole  body  was  to  the 
man  who  ought  to  have  adored  her.  What  a  contrast ! 

What  woman  could  have  resisted  this  persistent  idolatry? 
She  was  sure  of  being  understood  and  obeyed.  If  she  had 
bid  Calyste  to  risk  his  life  for  her  smallest  whim,  he  would 
not  even  have  paused  to  think.  And  Beatrix  acquired  an  inde- 
scribable air  of  imposing  dignity;  she  looked  at  love  on  its 
loftiest  side,  and  sought  in  it  a  footing,  as  it  were,  which 
would  enable  her  to  remain,  in  Calyste's  eyes,  the  supreme 
woman;  she  wished  her  power  over  him  to  be  eternal.  She 
coquetted  all  the  more  persistently  because  she  felt  herself 
weak. 

For  a  whole  week  she  played  the  invalid  with  engaging  hy- 
pocrisy. How  many  times  did  she  walk  round  and  round  the 
green  lawn  that  spread  on  the  garden  side  of  the  house,  lean- 
ing on  Calyste's  arm,  and  reviving  in  Camille  the  torments 
fihe  had  caused  her  during  the  first  week  of  her  visit. 


196  BEATRIX 

"Well,  my  dear,  you  are  taking  him  the  Grand  Tour !"  said 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  the  Marquise. 

One  evening,  before  the  excursion  to  le  Croisic,  the  two 
women  had  been  discussing  love,  and  laughing  over  the  vari- 
ous ways  in  which  men  made  their  declarations,  confessing 
that  the  most  skilful,  and,  of  course,  therefore  the  least  de- 
voted, did  not  waste  time  in  wandering  through  the  mazes  of 
sentimentality,  and  were  right;  so  that  those  who  loved  best 
were,  at  a  certain  stage,  the  worst  used. 

"They  set  to  work  as  la  Fontaine  did  to  get  into  the  Acad- 
emy," said  Camille. 

Her  remark  now  recalled  this  conversation  to  Beatrix's 
memory  while  reproving  her  Machiavelian  conduct.  Madame 
de  Rochefide  had  absolute  power  over  Calyste,  and  could  keep 
him  within  the  bounds  she  chose,  reminding  him  by  a  look  or 
a  gesture  of  his  horrible  violence  by  the  seashore.  Then  the 
poor  martyr's  eyes  would  fill  with  tears;  he  was  silent,  swal- 
lowing down  his  arguments,  his  hopes,  his  griefs,  with  a  hero- 
ism that  would  have  touched  any  other  woman. 

Her  infernal  coquetting  brought  him  to  such  desperation 
that  he  came  one  day  to  throw  himself  into  Camille's  arms  and 
ask  her  advice.  Beatrix,  armed  with  Calyste's  letter,  had 
picked  out  the  passage  in  which  he  said  that  loving  was  the 
chief  happiness,  that  being  loved  was  second  to  it,  and  she  had 
made  use  of  this  axiom  to  suppress  his  passion  to  such  a  de- 
gree of  respectful  idolatry  as  she  chose  to  permit.  She  rev- 
eled in  having  her  spirit  soothed  by  the  sweet  concert  of 
praise  and  adoration  which  nature  suggests  to  youth;  and 
there  is  so  much  art  too,  though  unconscious,  so  much  inno- 
cent seductiveness  in  their  cries,  their  prayers,  their  exclama- 
tions, their  appeals  to  themselves,  in  their  readiness  to  mort- 
gage the  future,  that  Beatrix  took  care  not  to  answer  him. 
She  had  told  him  she  doubted!  Happiness  was  not  yet  in 
question,  only  the  permission  to  love  that  the  lad  was  con- 
stantly asking  for,  persistently  bent  on  taking  the  citadel 
from  the  strongest  side — that  of  the  mind  and  heart. 

The  woman  who  is  bravest  in  word  is  often  weak  in  action. 


BEATRIX  197 

After  seeing  what  progress  he  had  made  by  his  attempt  to 
push  Beatrix  into  the  sea,  it  is  strange  that  Calyste  should  not 
have  continued  the  pursuit  of  happiness  through  violence; 
but  love  in  these  young  lads  is  so  ecstatic  and  religious  that  it 
insists  on  absolute  conviction.  Hence  its  sublimity. 

However,  one  day  Calyste,  driven  to  bay  by  desire,  com- 
plained vehemently  to  Camille  of  Madame  de  Eochefide's  con- 
duct. 

"I  wanted  to  cure  you  by  enabling  you  to  know  her  from  the 
first,"  replied  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  "but  you  spoilt  all 
by  your  impetuosity.  Ten  days  since  you  were  her  master; 
now  you  are  her  slave,  my  poor  boy.  So  you  would  never  be 
strong  enough  to  carry  out  my  orders." 

"What  must  I  do  ?" 

"Quarrel  with  her  on  the  ground  of  her  cruelty.  A  woman 
is  always  carried  away  by  talk ;  make  her  treat  you  badly,  and 
do  not  return  to  les  Touches  till  she  sends  for  you." 

There  is  a  moment  in  every  severe  disease  when  the  patient 
accepts  the  most  painful  remedies,  and  submits  to  the  most 
horrible  operations.  Calyste  was  at  this  crisis.  He  took  Ca- 
mille's  advice;  he  stayed  at  home  for  two  days;  but  on  the 
third  he  was  tapping  at  Beatrix's  door  and  telling  her  that  he 
and  Camille  were  waiting  breakfast  for  her. 

"Another  chance  lost !"  said  Camille,  seeing  him  sneak  back 
so  tamely. 

During  those  two  days  Beatrix  had  stopped  frequently  at 
the  window  whence  the  Guerande  road  could  be  seen.  When 
Camille  found  her  there  she  said  that  she  was  studying  the 
effect  of  the  gorse  by  the  roadside,  its  golden  bloom  blazing 
under  the  September  sun.  Thus  Camille  had  read  her  friend's 
secret ;  she  had  only  to  say  the  word  for  Calyste  to  be  happy. 
But  she  did  not  speak  it ;  she  was  still  too  much  a  woman  to 
urge  him  to  the  deed  so  dreaded  by  young  hearts,  who  seem 
aware  of  all  that  their  ideal  must  lose  by  it. 

Beatrix  kept  Camille  and  Calyste  waiting  some  little  time ; 
if  he  had  been  any  other  man,  the  delay  would  have  seemed 
significant,  for  the  Marquise's  dress  suggested  her  wish  to  fas- 


198  BEATRIX 

cinate  Calyste  and  prevent  his  absenting  himself  again.  Af- 
ter breakfast  she  went  to  walk  in  the  garden,  and  enchanted 
him  with  joy,  as  she  enchanted  him  with  love,  by  expressing 
her  wish  to  go  with  him  again  to  see  the  spot  where  she  had 
so  nearly  perished. 

"Let  us  go  alone,"  said  Calyste  in  a  broken  voice. 

"If  I  refused,"  said  she,  "I  might  give  you  reason  to  think 
that  you  were  dangerous.  Alas !  as  I  have  told  you  a  thou- 
sand times,  I  belong  to  another,  and  must  for  ever  be  his 
alone.  I  chose  him,  knowing  nothing  of  love.  The  fault 
was  twofold,  and  the  punishment  double." 

When  she  spoke  thus,  her  eyes  moist  with  the  rare  tears 
such  women  can  shed,  Calyste  felt  a  sort  of  pity  that  cooled 
his  furious  ardor ;  he  worshiped  her  then  as  a  Madonna.  We 
must  not  expect  that  different  natures  should  resemble  each 
other  in  the  expression  of  their  feelings,  any  more  than  we 
look  for  the  same  fruits  from  different  trees.  Beatrix  at  this 
moment  was  torn  in  her  mind;  she  hesitated  between  herself 
and  Calyste ;  between  the  world,  where  she  hoped  some  day  to 
be  seen  again,  and  perfect  happiness ;  between  ruining  herself 
finally  by  a  second  unpardonable  passion  and  social  forgive- 
ness. She  was  beginning  to  listen  without  even  affected  an- 
noyance to  the  language  of  blind  love ;  she  allowed  herself  to 
be  soothed  by  the  gentle  hands  of  pity.  Already,  many  times, 
she  had  been  moved  to  tears  by  hearing  Calyste  promising  her 
love  enough  to  make  up  for  all  she  could  lose  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  and  pitying  her  for  being  bound  to  such  an  evil  genius, 
to  a  mUn  as  false  as  Conti.  More  than  once  she  had  not 
silenced  Calyste  when  she  had  told  him  of  the  misery  and  suf- 
ferings that  overwhelmed  her  in  Italy  when  she  found  that  she 
did  not  reign  alone  in  Conti's  heart.  Camille  had  given  Ca- 
lyste more  than  one  lecture  on  this  subject,  and  Calyste  had 
profited  by  them. 

"I,"  said  he,  "love  you  wholly;  you  will  find  in  me  none  of 
the  triumphs  of  art,  nor  the  pleasures  derived  from  seeing  a 
crowd  bewildered  by  the  wonders  of  talent;  my  only  talent  is 
for  loving  you,  my  only  joys  will  be  in  yours ;  no  woman's  ad- 


BEATRIX  199 

miration  will  seem  to  me  worthy  of  consideration;  you  need 
fear  no  odious  rivals.  You  are  misprized;  and  wherever  you 
are  accepted  I  desire  also  to  be  accepted  every  day." 

She  listened  to  his  words  with  a  drooping  head,  allowing 
him  to  kiss  her  hands,  and  confessing  to  herself  silently  but 
very  readily  that  she  was  perhaps  a  misunderstood  angel. 

"I  am  too  much  humiliated/'  she  replied ;  "my  past  deprives 
me  of  all  security  for  the  future." 

It  was  a  great  day  for  Calyste  when,  on  reaching  les 
Touches  at  seven  in  the  morning,  he  saw  from  between  two 
gorse  bushes  Beatrix  at  a  window,  wearing  the  same  straw 
hat  that  she  had  worn  on  the  day  of  their  excursion.  He  felt 
quite  dazzled.  These  small  details  of  passion  make  the  world 
wider. 

Only  Frenchwomen,  perhaps,  have  the  secret  of  these  the- 
atrical touches ;  they  owe  them  to  their  graceful  wit,  of  which 
they  infuse  just  so  much  into  feeling  as  it  can  bear  without 
losing  its  force. 

Ah!  how  lightly  she  leaned  on  Calyste's  arm.  They  went 
out  together  by  the  garden  gate  leading  to  the  sand-hills.  Bea- 
trix thought  their  wildness  pleasing;  she  saw  the  little  rigid 
plants  that  grow  there  with  their  pink  blossoms,  and  gathered 
several,  with  some  of  the  Carthusian  pinks,  which  also  thrive 
on  barren  sands,  and  divided  the  flowers  significantly  with 
Calyste,  to  whom  these  blossoms  and  leaves  were  to  have  an 
eternally  sinister  association. 

"We  will  add  a  sprig  of  box !"  said  she  with  a  smile. 

She  stood  for  some  time  waiting  for  the  boat  on  the  jetty, 
where  Calyste  told  her  of  his  childish  eagerness  the  day  of  her 
arrival. 

"That  expedition,  which  I  heard  of,  was  the  cause  of  my 
severity  that  first  day,"  said  she. 

Throughout  their  walk  Madame  de  Kochefide  talked  in  the 
half-jesting  tone  of  a  woman  who  loves,  and  with  tenderness 
and  freedom  of  manner.  Calyste  might  believe  himself  loved. 
But  when,  as  they  went  along  the  strand  under  the  rocks,  and 


200  BEATRIX 

down  into  one  of  those  pretty  bays  where  the  waves  have 
thrown  up  a  marvelous  mosaic  of  the  strangest  marbles,  with 
which  they  played  like  children  at  picking  up  the  finest  speci- 
mens— when  Calyste,  at  the  height  of  intoxication,  proposed 
in  so  many  words  that  they  should  fly  to  Ireland,  she  assumed 
a  dignified  and  mysterious  air,  begged  to  take  his  arm,  and 
went  on  towards  the  cliff  she  had  called  her  Tarpeian  rock. 

"My  dear  fellow/'  said  she,  as  they  slowly  climbed  the  fine 
block  of  granite  she  meant  to  take  as  her  pedestal,  "I  have  not 
courage  enough  to  conceal  all  you  are  to  me.  For  the  last  ten 
years  I  have  known  no  happiness  to  compare  with  that  we  have 
just  enjoyed  in  hunting  for  shells  among  those  tide-washed 
rocks,  in  exchanging  pebbles,  of  which  I  shall  have  a  necklace 
made,  more  precious  in  my  eyes  than  if  it  were  composed  of 
the  finest  diamonds.  I  have  been  a  child  again,  a  little  girl 
such  as  I  was  at  thirteen  or  fourteen,  when  I  was  worthy  of 
you.  The  love  I  have  been  so  happy  as  to  inspire  you  with  has 
elevated  me  in  my  own  eyes.  Understand  this  in  all  its  magi- 
cal meaning.  You  have  made  me  the  proudest,  the  happiest 
of  my  sex,  and  you  will  live  longer  in  my  memory  than  I  prob- 
ably shall  in  yours/' 

At  this  moment  she  had  reached  the  summit  of  the  cliff, 
whence  the  vast  ocean  was  seen  spreading  on  one  side,  and  on 
the  other  the  Brittany  coast  with  its  golden  islets,  its  feudal 
towers,  and  its  clumps  of  gorse.  Never  had  a  woman  a  finer 
stage  on  which  to  make  a  grand  avowal. 

"But,"  she  went  on,  "I  am  not  my  own ;  I  am  more  firmly 
bound  by  my  own  act  than  I  was  by  law.  So  you  are  punished 
for  my  misfortune ;  you  must  be  content  to  know  that  we  suf- 
fer together.  Dante  never  saw  Beatrice  again,  Petrarch 
never  possessed  his  Laura.  Such  disasters  befall  none  but 
great  souls. 

"Oh !  if  ever  I  should  be  deserted,  if  I  should  fall  a  thou- 
sand degrees  lower  in  shame  and  infamy,  if  your  Beatrix  is 
cruelly  misunderstood  by  a  world  that  will  be  loathsome  to 
her,  if  she  should  be  the  most  despised  of  women !  .  .  .  Then, 
beloved  child,"  she  added,  taking  his  hand,  "you  will  know 


BEATRIX  201 

that  she  is  the  foremost  of  them  all,  that  she  could  rise  to 
heaven  with  your  support.  But  then,  my  friend,"  she  added, 
with  a  lofty  glance  at  him,  "when  you  want  to  throw  her  down, 
do  not  miss  your  stroke ;  after  your  love,  death !" 

Calyste  had  his  arm  round  her  waist ;  he  clasped  her  to  his 
heart.  To  confirm  her  tender  words,  Madame  de  Rochefide 
sealed  Calyste's  forehead  with  the  most  chaste  and  timid  kiss. 
Then  they  went  down  the  path  and  returned  slowly,  talking 
like  two  people  who  perfectly  understand  and  enter  into  each 
other's  minds;  she  believing  she  had  secured  peace,  he  no 
longer  doubting  that  he  was  to  be  happy — and  both  deceived. 

Calyste  hoped  from  what  Camille  had  observed  that  Conti 
would  be  delighted  to  seize  the  opportunity  of  giving  up  Bea- 
trix. The  Marquise  on  her  part  abandoned  herself  to  the  un- 
certainty of  things,  waiting  on  chance.  Calyste  was  too  deeply 
in  love  and  too  ingenuous  to  create  the  chance.  They  both 
reached  les  Touches  in  the  most  delightful  frame  of  mind,  go- 
ing in  by  the  garden  gate,  of  which  Calyste  had  taken  the  key. 

It  was  now  about  six  o'clock.  The  intoxicating  perfumes, 
the  mild  atmosphere,  the  golden  tones  of  the  evening  light 
were  all  in  harmony  with  their  tender  mood  and  talk.  Their 
steps  were  matched  and  equal  as  those  of  lovers  are;  their 
movements  betrayed  the  unison  of  their  minds.  Such  silence 
reigned  at  les  Touches  that  the  sound  of  the  opening  and 
closing  gate  echoed  distinctly,  and  must  have  been  heard  all 
over  the  grounds.  As  Calyste  and  Beatrix  had  said  all  they 
had  to  say,  and  their  agitating  walk  had  tired  them,  they  came 
in  slowly  and  without  speaking. 

Suddenly,  as  she  turned  an  angle,  Beatrix  was  seized  with  a 
spasm  of  horror — the  infectious  dread  that  is  caused  by  the 
sight  of  a  reptile,  and  that  chilled  Calyste  before  he  saw  its 
occasion.  On  a  bench  under  a  weeping-ash  Conti  sat  talking 
to  Camille  Maupin.  Madame  de  Eochefide's  convulsive  inter- 
nal trembling  was  more  evident  than  she  wished.  Calyste 
now  knew  how  dear  he  was  to  this  woman  who  had  just  built 
up  the  barrier  between  herself  and  him,  no  doubt  with  a 
view  to  securing  a  few  days  more  for  coquetting  before,  over- 
leaping it. 


202  BEATRIX 

In  one  instant  a  tragical  drama  in  endless  perspective  was 
felt  in  each  heart. 

"You  did  not  expect  me  so  soon,  I  dare  say/'  said  the 
artist,  offering  Beatrix  his  arm. 

The  Marquise  could  not  avoid  relinquishing  Calyste's  arm 
and  taking  Conti's.  This  undignified  transition,  so  imper- 
atively demanded,  so  full  of  offence  to  the  later  love,  was 
too  much  for  Calyste,  who  went  to  throw  himself  on  the 
bench  by  Camille,  after  exchanging  the  most  distant  greeting 
with  his  rival.  He  felt  a  hundred  contending  sensations. 
On  discerning  how  much  Beatrix  loved  him,  his  impulse  was 
to  rush  at  the  artist  and  declare  that  she  was  his;  but  the 
poor  woman's  moral  convulsion,  betraying  her  sufferings — 
for  she  had  in  that  one  moment  paid  the  forfeit  of  all  her 
sins — had  startled  him  so  much  that  he  remained  stupefied, 
stricken,  like  her,  by  relentless  necessity.  These  antagonistic 
impulses  produced  the  most  violent  storm  of  feeling  he  had 
yet  known  since  he  had  loved  Beatrix. 

Madame  de  Rochefide  and  Conti  went  past  the  seat  where 
Calyste  had  thrown  himself  by  Camille's  side;  the  Marquise 
looking  at  her  rival  with  one  of  those  terrible  flashes  by 
which  a  woman  can  convey  everything.  She  avoided  Ca- 
lyste's eye,  and  seemed  to  listen  to  Conti,  who  was  talking 
lightly. 

"What  can  they  be  saying?"  asked  Calyste  of  Camille. 

"Dear  child,  you  have  no  idea  yet  of  the  terrible  hold  a 
man  has  over  a  woman  on  the  strength  of  a  dead  passion.  Bea- 
trix could  not  refuse  him  her  hand.  He  is  laughing  at  her,  no 
doubt,  over  her  fresh  love  affair;  he  guessed  it,  of  course, 
from  your  behavior,  and  the  way  in  which  you  came  in  to- 
gether when  he  saw  you." 

"He  is  laughing  at  her!"  cried  the  vehement  youth. 

"Keep  calm,"  said  Camille,  "or  you  will  lose  the  few  chances 
that  remain  to  you.  If  he  wounds  Beatrix  too  much  in  her 
vanities,  she  will  trample  him  under  foot  like  a  worm.  But 
he  is  astute;  he  will  know  how  to  do  it  cleverly.  He  will 
not  suppose  that  the  haughty  Madame  de  Rochefide  could 


BEATRIX  208 

possibly  be  false  to  him!  It  would  be  too  base  to  love 
a  young  man  for  his  beauty!  He  will  no  doubt  speak 
of  you  to  her  as  a  mere  boy  bewitched  by  the  notion  of  pos- 
sessing a  Marquise  and  of  ruling  the  destinies  of  two  women. 
Finally,  he  will  thunder  with  the  rattling  artillery  of  in- 
sulting insinuations.  Then  Beatrix  will  be  obliged  to  com- 
bat him  with  false  denials,  of  which  he  will  take  advantage, 
and  remain  master  of  the  field." 

"Ah!"  cried  Calyste,  "he  does  not  love.  I  should  leave 
her  free.  Love  demands  a  choice  renewed  every  minute,  con- 
firmed every  day.  The  morrow  is  the  justification  of  yes- 
terday, and  increases  our  hoard  of  joys. — A  few  days  later, 
and  he  would  not  have  found  us  here.  What  brought  him 
back?" 

"A  journalist's  taunt,"  said  Camille.  "The  opera  on  whose 
success  he  had  counted  is  a  failure — a  dead  failure.  These 
words  spoken  in  the  greenroom,  perhaps  by  Claude  Vignon, 
'It  is  hard  to  lose  your  reputation  and  your  mistress  both 
at  once!'  stung  him,  no  doubt,  in  all  his  vanities.  Love 
based  on  mean  sentiments  is  merciless. 

"I  questioned  him;  but  who  can  trust  so  false  and  de- 
ceitful a  nature?  He  seemed  weary  of  poverty  and  of  love, 
disgusted  with  life.  He  regretted  having  connected  himself 
so  publicly  with  the  Marquise,  and  in  speaking  of  their  past 
happiness  fell  into  a  strain  of  poetic  melancholy  rather  too 
elegant  to  be  genuine.  He  hoped,  no  doubt,  to  extract  the 
secret  of  your  love  from  the  joy  his  flattery  must  give  me." 

"Well  ?"  said  Calyste,  looking  at  Beatrix  and  Conti  return- 
ing, and  listening  no  longer  to  Camille. 

Camille  had  prudently  kept  on  the  defensive ;  she  had  not 
betrayed  either  Calyste's  secret  or  Beatrix's.  The  artist  was 
a  man  to  dupe  any  one  in  the  world,  and  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  warned  Calyste  to  be  on  his  guard  with  him. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "this  is  for  you  the  most  critical 
moment;  such  prudence  and  skill  are  needed  as  you  have 
not,  and  you  will  be  fooled  by  the  most  cunning  man  on 
earth;  for  I  can  do  no  more  for  you." 


204  BEATRIX 

A  bell  announced  that  dinner  was  served.  Conti  offered 
his  arm  to  Camille,  Beatrix  took  that  of  Calyste.  Camille 
let  the  Marquise  lead  the  way;  she  had  a  moment  to  look 
at  Calyste  and  enjoin  prudence  by  putting  her  finger  to  her 
lips. 

All  through  dinner  Conti  was  in  the  highest  spirits.  This 
was  perhaps  a  way  of  gauging  Madame  de  Rochefide,  who 
played  her  part  badly.  As  a  coquette  she  might  have  de- 
ceived Conti ;  but,  being  seriously  in  love,  she  betrayed  her- 
self. The  wily  musician,  far  from  watching  her,  seemed  not 
to  observe  her  embarrassment.  At  dessert  he  began  talking 
of  women  and  crying  up  their  noble  feelings. 

"A  woman  who  would  desert  us  in  prosperity  will  sacrifice 
everything  to  us  in  adversity,"  said  he.  "Women  have  the 
advantage  of  men  in  constancy;  a  woman  must  be  deeply 
offended,  indeed,  to  throw  over  a  first  lover;  she  clings  to 

him  as  to  her  honor;  a  second  love  is  a  disgrace "  and  so 

forth. 

He  was  astoundingly  moral;  he  burnt  incense  before  the 
altar  on  which  a  heart  was  bleeding  pierced  by  a  thousand 
stabs.  Only  Camille  and  Beatrix  understood  the  virulence 
of  the  acrid  satire  he  poured  out  in  the  form  of  praises. 
Now  and  again  they  both  colored,  but  they  were  obliged  to 
control  themselves;  they  went  up  to  Camille's  sitting-room 
arm-in-arm,  and  with  one  consent  passed  through  the  larger 
drawing-room,  where  there  were  no  lights,  and  they  could  ex- 
change a  few  words. 

"I  cannot  endure  to  let  Conti  walk  over  my  prostrate  body, 
to  give  him  a  right  over  me,"  said  Beatrix  in  an  undertone. 
"The  convict  on  the  hulks  is  always  at  the  mercy  of  the  man 
he  is  chained  to.  I  am  lost !  I  must  go  back  to  the  hulks 
of  love! — And  it  is  you  who  have  sent  me  back.  Ah,  you 
made  him  come  a  day  too  late — or  too  soon.  I  recognize 
your  infernal  gift  of  romance.  Yes,  the  revenge  is  complete, 
the  climax  perfect." 

"I  could  threaten  you  that  I  would  write  to  Conti,  but 
as  to  doing  it ! — I  am  incapable  of  such  a  thing !"  cried  Ca- 
mille. "You  are  miserable,  so  I  forgive  you.*' 


BEATRIX  20u 

"What  will  become  of  Calyste?"  said  the  Marquise,  with 
the  exquisite  artlessness  of  vanity. 

"Then  is  Conti  taking  you  away?"  cried  Camille. 

"Ah !    you  expect  to  triumph  ?"  retorted  Beatrix. 

The  Marquise  spoke  the  hideous  words  with  rage,  her  beau- 
tiful features  distorted,  while  Camille  tried  to  conceal  her 
gladness  under  an  assumed  expression  of  regret;  but  the 
light  in  her  eyes  gave  the  lie  to  the  gravity  of  her  face,  and 
Beatrix  could  see  through  the  mask !  When  they  saw  each 
other  by  candlelight,  sitting  on  the  divan  where  during  the 
last  three  weeks  so  many  comedies  had  been  played  out,  where 
the  secret  tragedy  of  so  many  thwarted  passions  had  had 
its  beginning,  the  two  women  studied  each  other  for  the  last 
time;  they  saw  that  they  were  divided  by  a  deep  gulf  of 
hatred. 

"I  leave  you  Calyste/'  said  Beatrix,  seeing  her  rival's 
eyes.  "But  I  am  fixed  in  his  heart,  and  no  woman  will 
oust  me." 

Camille  retorted  by  quoting,  in  a  tone  of  subtle  irony 
which  stung  the  Marquise  to  the  quick,  the  famous  speech 
of  Mazarin's  niece  to  Louis  XIV. :  "You  reign,  you  love 
him,  and  you  are  going !" 

Neither  of  them  throughout  this  scene,  which  was  a  stormy 
one,  noticed*  the  absence  of  Calyste  and  Conti.  The  artist 
had  remained  at  table  with  his  rival,  desiring  him  to  keep 
him  company,  and  finish  a  bottle  of  champagne. 

"We  have  something  to  say  to  each  other,"  said  Conti,  to 
anticipate  any  refusal. 

In  the  position  in  which  they  stood  to  each  other,  the  young 
Breton  was  obliged  to  obey  the  behest. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  the  singer  in  a  soothing  voice  when 
Calyste  had  drunk  two  glasses  of  wine,  "we  are  a  couple  of 
good  fellows;  we  may  be  frank  with  each  other.  I  did  not 
come  here  because  I  was  suspicious.  Beatrix  loves  me."  And 
he  assumed  a  fatuous  air.  "For  my  part,  I  love  her  no 
longer;  I  have  come,  not  to  carry  her  off,  but  to  break  with 
her  and  leave  her  the  credit  of  the  rupture.  You  are  young;. 


206  BEATRIX 

you  do  not  know  how  necessary  it  is  to  seem  the  victim  when 
you  feel  that  you  are  the  executioner.  Young  men  spout 
fire  and  flame,  they  make  a  parade  of  throwing  over  a  woman, 
they  often  scorn  her  and  make  her  hate  them;  but  a  wise 
man  gets  himself  dismissed,  and  puts  on  a  humiliated  ex- 
pression which  leaves  the  lady  some  regrets  and  a  sweet  sense 
of  superiority.  The  displeasure  of  the  divinity  is  not  ir- 
remediable, while  abdication  is  past  all  reparation. 

"You,  happily  for  you,  do  not  yet  know  how  our  lives 
may  be  hampered  by  the  senseless  promises  which  women 
are  such  fools  as  to  accept,  when  gallantry  requires  us  to 
tie  such  slip-knots  to  divert  the  idle  hours  of  happiness.  The 
pair  then  swear  eternal  fidelity.  A  man  has  some  adventure 
with  a  woman — he  does  not  fail  to  assure  her  politely  that 
he  hopes  to  live  and  die  with  her;  he  pretends  to  be  impa- 
tiently awaiting  the  demise  of  a  husband  while  earnestly  wish- 
ing him  perfect  health.  If  the  husband  should  die,  there 
are  women  so  provincial  or  so  tenacious,  so  silly  or  so  wily, 
as  to  rush  on  the  man,  crying,  'I  am  free — here  I  am !' 

"Not  one  of  us  is  free.  The  spent  ball  recoils  and  falls 
into  the  midst  of  our  best-planned  triumph  or  happiness. 

"I  foresaw  that  you  would  love  Beatrix;  I  left  her  in  a 
situation  in  which  she  must  need  flirt  with  you^without  ab- 
dicating her  sacred  majesty,  were  it  only  to  annoy  that  angel, 
Camille  Maupin.  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  love  her;  you  will 
be  doing  me  a  service.  I  only  want  her  to  behave  atrociously 
to  me.  I  dread  her  pride  and  her  virtue. — Perhaps,  in  spite 
of  goodwill  on  my  side,  some  time  will  be  required  for  this 
manoeuvre.  On  such  occasions  the  one  who  does  not  take  the 
first  step  wins.  Just  now,  as  we  walked  round  the  lawn,  I 
tried  to  tell  her  that  I  knew  all,  and  wished  her  joy  of  her 
happiness.  Well,  she  was  very  angry. 

"I,  at  this  moment,  am  in  love  with  the  youngest  of  our 
singers,  Mademoiselle  Falcon,  of  the  Opera,  and  I  want  to 
marry  her.  Yes,  I  have  got  so  far  as  that !  But  when  you 
come  to  Paris,  you  will  say  I  have  exchanged  a  Marquise  for 
a  Queen  I" 


BEATRIX  207 

Joy  shed  its  glory  on  Calyste's  candid  face;  he  confessed 
his  love;  this  was  all  that  Conti  wanted. 

There  is  not  a  man  in  the  world,  however  blase,  however 
depraved,  whose  love  does  not  revive  as  soon  as  it  is  threat- 
ened by  a  rival.  We  may  wish  to  be  rid  of  a  woman;  we 
do  not  wish  that  she  should  throw  us  over.  When  lovers  have 
come  to  this  extremity,  men  and  women  alike  try  to  be  first 
in  the  field,  so  cruel  is  the  wound  to  their  self-respect.  Per- 
haps what  is  at  stake  is  all  that  Society  has  thrown  into  that 
feeling;  it  is  indeed  less  a  matter  of  self-respect  than  of 
life  itself,  the  whole  future  is  in  the  balance ;  we  feel  as  if  we 
were  losing  not  the  interest,  but  the  capital. 

Calyste,  cross-examined  by  the  artist,  related  all  that  had 
happened  during  these  three  weeks  at  les  Touches,  and  was  de- 
lighted with  Conti,  who  concealed  his  rage  under  a  semblance 
of  delightful  good-nature. 

"Let  us  go  upstairs,"  said  he.  "Women  are  not  trustful; 
they  will  not  understand  how  we  can  have  sat  together  for 
so  long  without  clutching  at  each  other's  hair;  they  might 
come  down  to  listen. — I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you,  my  dear 
child.  I  will  be  odious,  rude,  and  jealous  with  the  Mar- 
quise; I  will  constantly  suspect  her  of  deceiving  me — there 
is  nothing  more  certain  to  lead  a  woman  to  a  betrayal;  you 
will  be  happy,  and  I  shall  be  free.  You,  this  evening,  must 
assume  the  part  of  a  disconcerted  lover;  I  shall  play  the 
suspicious  and  jealous  man.  Pity  the  angel  for  her  enthral- 
ment  to  a  man  without  fine  feelings — weep !  You  can  weep, 
you  are  young.  I,  alas,  can  no  longer  weep;  it  is  a  great 
advantage  lost." 

Calyste  and  Conti  went  upstairs.  The  musician,  requested 
to  sing  by  his  young  rival,  chose  the  greatest  test  known  to 
musical  executants,  the  famous  "Pria  die  spunti  I'aurora," 
which  Rubini  himself  never  attempts  without  a  qualm,  and 
in  which  Conti  had  often  triumphed.  Never  had  he  been 
more  wonderful  than  at  this  moment  when  so  many  feelings 
were  seething  in  his  breast.  Calyste  was  in  ecstasies.  At 
the  first  note  of  the  cavatina  the  singer  fired  a  glance  at  the 


208  BEATRIX 

Marquise  which  gave  cruel  significance  to  the  words,  and 
which  was  understood.  Camille,  playing  the  accompaniment, 
guessed  that  it  was  a  command  that  made  Beatrix  bow  her 
head.  She  looked  at  Calyste,  and  suspected  that  the  boy  had 
fallen  into  some  snare  in  spite  of  her  warnings.  She  was  cer- 
tain of  it  when  the  youth  went  gleefully  to  bid  Beatrix  good- 
night, kissing  her  hand  and  pressing  it  with  a  little  knowing 
and  confident  look. 

By  the  time  Calyste  had  reached  Guerande  the  ladies'  maid 
and  servants  were  packing  Conti's  traveling  carriage;  and 
"before  the  dawn/'  as  he  had  sung,  he  had  carried  off  Beatrix, 
with  Canaille's  horses,  as  far  as  the  first  posting-house. 

Under  cover  of  the  darkness,  Madame  de  Eochefide  was  able 
to  look  back  at  Guerande,  whose  tower,  white  in  the  day- 
break, stood  out  in  the  gray  light.  She  gave  herself  up  to 
melancholy,  for  she  was  leaving  there  one  of  the  fairest  flowers 
of  life — love  such  as  the  purest  girls  may  dream  of.  Ee- 
spect  of  persons  was  crushing  the  only  true  love  this  woman 
had  ever  known,  or  could  ever  know,  in  all  her  life.  The 
woman  of  the  world  was  obeying  the  laws  of  the  world,  sac- 
rificing love  to  appearances,  as  some  women  sacrifice  it  to 
religion  or  to  duty.  From  this  point  of  view,  this  terrible 
story  is  that  of  many  women. 

Next  day,  at  about  noon,  Calyste  arrived  at  les  Touches. 
When  he  reached  the  turn  in  the  road  whence,  yesterday,  he 
had  seen  Beatrix  at  the  window,  he  caught  sight  of  Camille, 
who  hurried  out  to  meet  him.  At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs 
she  said  this  cruel  word : 

"Gone !" 

"Beatrix  ?"  cried  Calyste,  stunned. 

"You  were  duped  by  Conti.  You  told  me  nothing;  I 
could  do  nothing." 

She  led  the  poor  boy  to  her  little  drawing-room;  he  sank 
on  the  divan  in  the  place  where  he  had  so  often  seen  the 
Marquise,  and  melted  into  tears.  Felicite  said  nothing ;  she 
smoked  her  hookah,  knowing  that  nothing  can  stem  the  first 
rush  of  such  suffering,  which  is  always  deaf  and  speechless. 


BEATRIX  209 

Calyste,  since  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  stayed  there  all 
day  in  a  state  of  utter  torpor.  Just  before  dinner,  Camille 
tried  to  say  a  few  words  to  him,  after  begging  that  he  would 
listen  to  her. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  she,  "you  have  been  the  cause  to  me 
of  intense  suffering,  and  I  have  not,  as  you  have,  a  fair  future 
life  in  which  to  recover.  To  me  the  earth  has  no  further 
springtime,  the  soul  no  further  love.  So  I,  to  find  comfort, 
must  look  higher. 

"Here,  the  day  before  Beatrix  came,  I  painted  her  portrait ; 
I  would  not  darken  it,  you  would  have  thought  that  I  was 
jealous.  Now,  listen  to  the  truth.  Madame  de  Eochefide 
is  as  far  as  possible  from  being  worthy  of  you.  The  display 
of  her  fall  was  not  necessary,  but  she  would  have  been  nobody 
but  for  that  scandal ;  she  made  it  on  purpose  to  have  a  part 
to  play.  She  is  one  of  those  women  who  prefer  the  parade 
of  wrongdoing  to  the  calm  peace  of  happiness;  they  affront 
Society  to  wring  from  it  the  evil  gift  of  a  slander ;  they  must 
be  talked  about,  at  whatever  cost.  She  was  eaten  up  by  van- 
ity. Her  fortune  and  wit  had  not  availed  to  give  her  the 
feminine  dominion  which  she  had  tried  to  conquer  by  pre- 
siding over  a  salon;  she  had  fancied  that  she  could  achieve 
the  celebrity  of  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  and  the  Vicomt- 
esse  de  Beauseant;  but  the  world  is  just,  it  bestows  the 
honors  of  its  interest  only  on  genuine  passion. 

"Her  flight  was  not  justified  by  any  obstacles.  Damocles' 
sword  did  not  hang  glittering  over  her  festivities;  and  be- 
sides, in  Paris,  those  who  love  truly  and  sincerely  may  easily 
be  happy  in  a  quiet  way.  In  short,  if  she  could  be  tender 
and  loving,  she  would  not  have  gone  off  last  night  with  Conti." 

Camille  talked  for  a  long  time,  and  very  eloquently,  but 
this  last  effort  was  in  vain;  she  ceased  on  seeing  a  shrug, 
by  which  Calyste  conveyed  his  entire  belief  in  Beatrix,  and  she 
insisted  on  his  coming  down  and  sitting  with  her  at  dinner, 
for  he  found  it  impossible  to  eat. 

It  is  only  while  we  are  very  young  that  these  spasmodic 
symptoms  occur.  At  a  later  period  the  organs  have  formed 


210  BEATRIX 

habits,  and  are,  as  it  were,  hardened.  The  reaction  of  the 
moral  system  on  the  physical  is  never  strong  enough  to  in- 
duce mortal  illness  unless  the  constitution  preserves  its  orig- 
inal delicacy.  A  man  can  resist  a  violent  grief  which  kills 
a  youth,  less  because  his  feelings  are  not  so  strong,  than 
because  his  organs  are  stronger.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
was  indeed  alarmed  from  the  first  by  Calyste's  calm  and  re- 
signed attitude  after  the  first  flood  of  tears.  Before  leaving 
the  house,  he  begged  to  see  Beatrix's  room  once  more,  and  hid 
his  face  in  the  pillow  on  which  hers  had  rested. 

"This  is  folly !"  said  he,  shaking  hands  with  Camille  and 
leaving  her,  sunk  in  melancholy. 

He  returned  home,  found  the  usual  party  engaged  in  play- 
ing mouche,  and  sat  by  his  mother  all  the  evening.  The 
cure,  the  Chevalier  du  Halga,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
all  knew  of  Madame  de  Eochefide's  departure,  and  were  all 
glad.  Calyste  would  now  come  back  to  them,  and  they  all 
watched,  almost  by  stealth,  seeing  that  he  was  silent.  No- 
body in  that  old  house  could  conceive  of  all  that  this  death 
of  a  first  love  must  be  to  a  heart  as  true  and  artless  as  Ca- 
lyste's. 

For  some  days  Calyste  went  regularly  to  les  Touches;  he 
would  wander  round  the  grass-plot  where  he  had  sometimes 
walked  arm-in-arm  with  Beatrix.  He  often  went  as  far  as 
le  Croisic,  and  climbed  the  rock  whence  he  had  tried  to 
throw  her  into  the  sea;  he  would  sit  for  hours  leaning  on 
the  box-shrub,  for  by  examining  the  projections  on  the  riven 
rock  he  had  learnt  to  climb  up  and  down  the  face  of  it.  His 
solitary  expeditions,  his  silence,  and  his  lack  of  appetite  at 
last  made  his  mother  uneasy.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight, 
while  these  proceedings  lasted — a  good  deal  like  those  of  an 
animal  in  its  cage,  and  the  despairing  lover's  cage  was,  to 
adopt  la  Fontaine's  phrase,  "the  spots  honored  by  the  foot- 
step, illuminated  by  the  eyes"  of  Beatrix — Calyste  could  no 
longer  cross  the  little  inlet;  he  had  only  strength  enough  to 
drag  himself  as  f&r  on  the  Guerande  road  as  the  spot  whence 
he  had  seen  Beatrix  at  the  window. 


BEATRIX  211 

The  family,  glad  at  the  departing  of  "the  Parisians,"  to 
use  the  provincial  phrase,  discerned  nothing  ominous  or  sickly 
in  Calyste.  The  two  old  maids  and  the  cure,  following  up 
their  plan,  had  kept  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  who,  in  the 
evening,  made  eyes  at  Calyste,  and  got  nothing  in  return 
but  advice  as  to  her  game  of  mouche.  All  through  the  even- 
ing Calyste  would  sit  between  his  mother  and  his  provincial 
fiancee,  under  the  eye  of  the  cure  and  of  Charlotte's  aunt, 
who,  on  their  way  home,  would  comment  on  his  greater  or 
less  dejection.  They  took  the  unhappy  boy's  indifference  for 
acquiescence  in  their  plans. 

One  evening,  when  Calyste,  being  tired,  had  gone  early 
to  bed,  the  players  all  left  their  cards  on  the  table,  and  looked 
at  each  other  as  the  young  man  shut  his  bedroom  door.  They 
had  listened  anxiously  to  his  footsteps. 

"Something  ails  Calyste,"  said  the  Baroness,  wiping  her 
eyes. 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  him,"  replied  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel;  "we  must  get  him  married  as  soon 
as  may  be." 

"Do  you  think  that  will  divert  him?"  said  the  Chevalier. 

Charlotte  looked  sternly  at  Monsieur  du  Halga,  whom  she 
thought  in  very  bad  taste  this  evening,  immoral,  depraved, 
irreligious,  and  quite  ridiculous  with  his  dog,  in  spite  of  her 
aunt,  who  always  took  the  old  sailor's  part. 

"To-morrow  morning  I  will  lecture  Calyste,"  said  the 
Baron,  whom  they  had  thought  asleep ;  "I  do  not  want  to  go 
out  of  this  world  without  having  seen  my  grandson,  a  little 
pink-and-white  du  Guenic,  with  a  Breton  hood  on  in  his 
cradle." 

"He  never  speaks  a  word,"  said  old  Zephirine,  "no  one 
knows  what  ails  him ;  he  never  ate  less  in  his  life ;  what  does 
he  live  on?  If  he  eats  at  les  Touches,  the  devil's  cookery 
does  him  no  good." 

"He  is  in  love,"  said  the  Chevalier,  proffering  this  opinion 
with  extreme  timidity. 

"Now,  then,  old  dotard,  you  have  not  put  into  the  pool/' 


212  BEATRIX 

said  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel.  "When  you  art  thinking 
of  your  young  days,  you  forget  everything  else." 

"Come  to  breakfast  with  us  to-morrow  morning,"  said  old 
Zephirine  to  Charlotte  and  Jacqueline ;  "my  brother  will  talk 
to  his  son,  and  we  will  Settle  everything.  One  nail  drives 
out  another." 

"Not  in  a  Breton,"  said  the  Chevalier. 

The  next  morning  Calyste  saw  Charlotte  arrive,  dressed 
with  unusual  care,  though  it  was  still  early,  just  as  his  father 
had  ended  giving  him,  in  the  dining-room,  a  discourse  on 
matrimony,  to  which  the  lad  could  find  nothing  to  say.  He 
knew  how  ignorant  his  aunt,  his  father,  and  his  mother  were, 
and  all  their  friends;  he  was  gathering  the  fruits  of  knowl- 
edge ;  he  found  himself  isolated,  no  longer  speaking  the  lan- 
guage of  the  household.  So  he  only  begged  a  few  days'  res- 
pite, and  his  father  rubbed  his  hands  with  joy,  and  gave  new 
life  to  the  Baroness  by  whispering  the  good  news  in  her  ear. 

Breakfast  was  a  cheerful  meal.  Charlotte,  to  whom  the 
Baron  had  given  a  wink,  was  in  high  spirits.  A  rumor 
filtered  through  Gasselin,  by  which  all  the  town  knew  that 
the  du  Guenics  and  the  Kergarouets  had  come  to  an  under- 
standing. After  breakfast  Calyste  went  out  of  the  hall  by 
the  steps  on  the  garden  side,  and  was  followed  by  Charlotte; 
he  offered  her  his  arm,  and  led  her  to  the  arbor  at  the  bottom 
of  the  garden.  The  old  folks,  standing  at  the  window,  looked 
at  them  with  a  sort  of  pathos.  Charlotte  looked  back  at  the 
pretty  house,  somewhat  uneasy  at  her  companion's  silence, 
and  took  advantage  of  their  presence  to  begin  the  conversa- 
tion by  saying  to  Calyste,  "They  are  watching  us!" 

"They  cannot  hear  us,"  he  replied. 

"No,  but  they  can  see  us." 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Calyste  gently,  as  he  took  her  hand. 

"Is  it  true  that  your  banner  once  floated  from  that  twisted 
pillar?"  asked  Charlotte,  looking  at  the  house  as  if  it  were 
her  own.  "It  would  look  well  there ! — How  happy  one  might 
be  here !  You  will  make  some  alterations  in  the  arrangement 
of  yonr  house,  will  you  not,  Calyste?" 


BEATRIX  213 

"I  shall  have  no  time  for  it,  my  dear  Charlotte,"  said  the 
young  man,  taking  her  hands  and  kissing  them.  "I  will  tell 
you  my  secret.  I  love  a  woman  whom  you  have  seen,  and  who 
loves  me — love  her  too  well  to  make  any  other  woman  happy ; 
and  I  know  that  from  our  infancy  you  and  I  have  always  been 
intended  to  marry." 

"But  she  is  married,  Calyste,"  said  Charlotte. 

"I  will  wait,"  said  the  boy. 

"And  so  will  I,"  said  Charlotte,  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 
"You  cannot  love  that  woman  for  long;  she  has  gone  off 
with  a  singer,  they  say.  .  .  ." 

"Marry  some  one  else,  my  dear  Charlotte,"  said  Calyste. 
"With  such  a  fortune  as  your  aunt  has  to  leave  you,  which 
is  enormous  in  Brittany,  you  can  find  a  better  match  than 
I.  You  will  find  a  man  with  a  title. — I  have  not  brought 
you  out  here  to  tell  you  what  you  already  know,  but  to  en- 
treat you  in  the  name  of  our  long  friendship  to  take  the  mat- 
ter upon  yourself  and  to  refuse  me.  Say  that  you  can  have 
nothing  to  say  to  a  man  whose  heart  is  not  free,  and  my 
passion  will  at  least  have  been  so  far  serviceable  that  I  shall 
have  done  you  no  wrong.  You  cannot  think  how  life  weighs 
upon  me!  I  cannot  endure  any  struggle,  I  am  as  weak  as 
a  body  deserted  by  its  soul,  by  the  very  element  of  life.  But 
for  the  grief  that  my  death  would  be  to  my  mother  and  my 
aunt,  I  should  have  thrown  myself  into  the  sea  ere  now,  and 
I  have  never  gone  to  the  rocks  of  le  Croisic  since  the  day 
when  the  temptation  began  to  be  irresistible. — Say  nothing  of 
this. — Charlotte,  farewell !" 

He  took  the  girl's  head  in  his  hands,  kissed  her  hair,  went 
out  of  the  path  under  the  gable,  and  made  his  escape  to 
Camille's,  where  he  remained  till  midnight. 

On  returning  at  about  one  in  the  morning,  he  found  his 
mother  busy  with  her  tapestry,  waiting  for  him.  He  crept  in 
softly,  took  her  hand,  and  asked : 

"Is  Charlotte  gone?" 

"She  is  going  to-morrow  with  her  aunt;  they  are  both  in 
despair. — Come  to  Ireland,  my  Calyste,"  she  added. 


214  BEATRIX 

"How  many  times  have  I  dreamed  of  flying  thither!" 
said  he. 

"Keally!"  exclaimed  the  Baroness. 

"With  Beatrix,"  he  added. 

Some  days  after  Charlotte's  departure,  Calyste  was  walk- 
ing with  the  Chevalier  du  Halga  on  the  Mall,  and  he  sat 
down  in  the  sun  on  a  bench  whence  his  eye  could  command 
the  whole  landscape,  from  the  weather-cocks  of  les  Touches 
to  the  shoals  marked  out  by  the  foaming  breakers  which 
dance  above  the  reefs  at  high  tide.  Calyste  was  thin  and 
pale,  his  strength  was  diminishing,  he  was  beginning  to  have 
little  periodical  shivering  fits,  symptomatic  of  fever.  His 
eyes,  with  dark  marks  round  them,  had  the  hard  glitter 
which  a  fixed  idea  will  give  to  lonely  persons,  or  which  the 
ardor  of  the  struggle  imparts  to  the  bold  leaders  of  the  civil- 
ization of  our  age.  The  Chevalier  was  the  only  person  with 
whom  he  sometimes  exchanged  his  ideas ;  he  had  discerned  in 
this  old  man  an  apostle  of  his  religion,  and  found  in  him 
the  traces  of  a  never-dying  love. 

"Have  you  loved  many  women  in  your  life?"  he  asked, 
the  second  time  that  he  and  the  old  navy  man  sailed  in  com- 
pany, as  the  Captain  called  it,  up  and  down  the  Mall. 

"Only  one,"  said  the  Captain. 

"Was  she  free  ?" 

"No,"  said  the  Chevalier.  "Ah,  I  suffered  much!  She 
was  my  best  friend's  wife — my  patron's,  my  chief's;  but  we 
loved  each  other  so  much !" 

"She  loved  you,  then?" 

"Passionately,"  replied  du  Halga,  with  unwonted  vehe- 
mence. 

"And  you  were  happy?" 

"Till  her  death.  She  died  at  the  age  of  forty-nine,  an 
e'migree  at  Saint-Petersburg;  the  climate  killed  her.  She 
must  be  very  cold  in  her  coffin!  I  have  often  thought  of 
going  to  bring  her  away  and  lay  her  in  our  beloved  Brittany, 
near  me !  But  she  rests  in  my  heart !" 

The  Chevalier  wiped  his  eyes ;  Calyste  took  his  hands  and 
pressed  them. 


BEATRIX  215 

"I  cling  to  that  dog  more  than  to  my  life,"  said  he,  point- 
ing to  Thisbe.  "That  little  creature  is  in  every  particular 
exactly  like  the  dog  she  used  to  fondle  with  her  beautiful 
hands,  and  to  take  on  her  knees.  I  never  look  at  Thisbe 
without  seeing  Madame  de  Kergarouet's  hands." 

"Have  you  seen  Madame  de  Rochefide?"  asked  Calyste. 

"No/'  replied  du  Halga.  "It  is  fifty-eight  years  now  since 
I  looked  at  a  woman,  excepting  your  mother ;  there  is  some- 
thing in  her  coloring  that  is  like  the  Admiral's  wife." 

Three  days  later  the  Chevalier  said  to  Calyste  as  they  met 
on  the  Mall : 

"My  boy,  all  I  have  in  the  world  is  a  hundred  and  eighty 
louis.  When  you  know  where  to  find  Madame  de  Rochefide, 
come  and  ask  me  for  them,  to  go  to  see  her." 

Calyste  thanked  the  old  man,  whose  life  he  envied.  But 
day  by  day  he  became  more  morose;  he  seemed  to  care  for 
no  one;  he  was  gentle  and  kind  only  to  his  mother.  The 
Baroness  watched  the  progress  of  this  mania  with  increasing 
anxiety ;  she  alone,  by  much  entreaty,  could  persuade  Calyste 
to  take  some  nourishment. 

By  the  beginning  of  October  the  young  fellow  could  no 
longer  walk  on  the  Mall  with  the  Chevalier,  who  came  in  vain 
to  ask  him  out  with  an  old  man's  attempts  at  coaxing. 

"We  will  talk  about  Madame  de  Rochefide/'  said  he.  "I 
will  tell  you  the  history  of  my  first  adventure. — Your  son 
is  very  ill,"  said  he  to  the  Baroness,  on  the  day  when  hi? 
urgency  proved  useless. 

Calyste  replied  to  all  who  questioned  him  that  he  was  per- 
fectly well,  and,  like  all  melancholy  youths,  relished  the  no- 
tion of  death;  but  he  never  left  the  house  now;  he  sat  in 
the  garden  on  the  seat,  warming  himself  in  the  pale,  mild 
autumn  sunshine,  alone  with  his  thoughts,  and  avoiding  all 
company. 

After  the  day  when  Calyste  no  longer  went  to  call  on  her, 
FSlicite  begged  the  cur6  of  Guerande  to  go  to  see  her.  The 
Abbe  Grimont's  regularity  in  going  to  les  Touches  almost 


216  BEATRIX 

every  morning,  and  dining  there  from  time  to  time,  became 
the  news  of  the  moment ;  it  was  talked  of  in  all  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  even  at  ISfantes.  However,  he  never  missed  spend- 
ing the  evening  at  Guerande,  where  despair  reigned.  Masters 
and  servants,  all  were  grieved  by  Calyste's  obstinacy,  though 
they  did  not  think  him  in  any  danger.  It  never  occurred  to 
any  one  of  these  good  people  that  the  poor  youth  could  die  of 
love.  The  Chevalier  had  no  record  of  such  a  death  in  all  his 
travels  or  reminiscences.  Everybody  ascribed  Calyste's  ema- 
ciation to  want  of  nutrition.  His  mother  would  go  on  her 
knees  to  beseech  him  to  eat.  To  please  her,  Calyste  tried  to 
overcome  his  repugnance,  and  the  food  thus  taken  against 
his  will  added  to  the  low  fever  that  was  consuming  the  hand- 
some boy. 

At  the  end  of  October  the  beloved  son  no  longer  went  up 
to  his  room  on  the  second  floor ;  he  had  his  bed  brought  down 
into  the  sitting-room,  and  lay  there  generally,  in  the  midst 
of  the  family,  who  at  last  sent  for  the  Guerande  doctor. 

The  medical  man  tried  to  check  the  fever  by  quinine,  and 
for  a  few  days  it  yielded  to  the  treatment.  The  doctor  also 
ordered  Calyste  to  take  exercise,  and  to  amuse  himself.  The 
Baron  rallied  his  strength,  and  shook  off  his  torpor;  he  grew 
young  as  his  son  grew  old.  He  took  out  Calyste,  Gasselin, 
and  the  two  fine  sporting  dogs.  Calyste  obeyed  his  father, 
and  for  a  few  days  the  three  men  went  out  together;  they 
went  through  the  forest  and  visited  his  friends  in  neigh- 
boring chateaux;  but  Calyste  had  no  spirit,  no  one  could 
beguile  him  of  a  smile,  his  pale  rigid  face  revealed  a  perfectly 
passive  creature. 

The  Baron,  broken  by  fatigue,  fell  into  a  state  of  collapse, 
and  was  forced  to  come  home,  bringing  Calyste  with  him  in 
the  same  condition.  Within  a  few  days  both  father  and  son 
were  so  ill  that,  at  the  request  of  the  Guerande  doctor  himself, 
the  two  first  physicians  of  Nantes  were  called  in.  The  Baron 
had  been  quite  knocked  over  by  the  visible  alteration  in  Ca- 
lyste. With  the  terrible  prescience  that  nature  bestows  on 
the  dying,  he  trembled  like  a  child  at  the  thought  that  his 


BEATRIX  217 

family  would  be  extinct;  he  said  nothing,  he  only  clasped 
his  hands,  praying  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  to  which  he  was 
tied  by  weakness.  He  sat  facing  the  bed  occupied  by  Calyste, 
and  watched  him  constantly.  At  his  child's  slightest  move- 
ment he  was  greatly  agitated,  as  if  the  flame  of  his  life  were 
fluttered  by  it. 

The  Baroness  never  left  the  room,  and  old  Zephirine  sat 
knitting  by  the  fire  in  a  state  of  agonizing  anxiety.  She 
was  constantly  being  asked  for  wood,  for  the  father  and  son 
both  felt  the  cold,  and  her  stores  were  invaded.  She  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  give  up  her  ke}*s,  for  she  was  no  longer 
brisk  enough  to  go  with  Mariotte;  but  she  insisted  on  know- 
ing everything;  every  minute  she  questioned  Mariotte  or  her 
sister-in-law,  and  would  take  them  aside  to  hear  about  the 
state  of  her  brother  and  nephew. 

One  evening,  when  Calyste  and  his  father  were  dozing,  old 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  remarked  that  they  would  no 
doubt  have  to  resign  themselves  to  losing  the  Baron,  whose 
face  was  quite  white,  and  had  assumed  a  waxen  look.  Made- 
moiselle du  Guenic  dropped  her  knitting,  fumbled  in  her 
pocket,  and  pulled  out  an  old  rosary  of  black  wooden  beads, 
which  she  proceeded  to  tell  with  a  fervency  that  gave  such  a 
glory  of  energy  to  her  ancient  parched  features,  that  the  other 
old  maid  followed  her  example ;  and  then,  at  a  sign  from  the 
cure,  they  all  united  in  the  silent  exaltation  of  the  old  blind 
lady. 

"I  was  the  first  to  pray  to  God,"  said  the  Baroness,  re- 
membering the  fateful  letter  written  by  Calyste,  "but  He 
did  not  hear  me  I" 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  Abbe  Grimont,  "we  should  be  wise  to 
beg  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  come  to  see  Calyste." 

"She!"  cried  old  Zephirine,  "the  author  of  all  our  woes, 
she  who  lured  him  away  from  his  family,  who  tore  him  from 
us,  who  made  him  read  impious  books,  who  taught  him  the 
language  of  heresy !  Curse  her,  and  may  God  never  forgive 
her !  She  has  crushed  the  du  Guenics !" 

'She  may  perhaps  raise  them  up  again,"  said  the  cure  in 


218  BEATRIX 

a  mild  voice.  "She  is  a  saintly  and  virtuous  woman :  I  am 
her  warranty.  She  has  none  but  good  intentions  as  regards 
Calyste.  May  she  be  able  to  realize  them  I" 

"Give  me  notice  the  day  she  is  to  set  foot  here,  and  I  will 
go  out/'  cried  the  old  lady.  "She  has  killed  both  father  and 
son.  Do  you  suppose  I  cannot  hear  how  weak  Calyste's  voice 
is? — he  hardly  has  strength  to  speak." 

Just  then  the  three  physicians  came  in.  They  wearied 
Calyste  with  questions.  As  to  his  father,  their  examination 
was  brief;  they  knew  all  in  a  moment;  the  only  wonder 
was  that  he  still  lived.  The  Guerande  doctor  quietly  ex- 
plained to  the  Baroness  that  it  would  probably  be  necessary 
to  take  Calyste  to  Paris  to  consult  the  most  eminent  author- 
ities, for  that  it  would  cost  more  than  a  hundred  louis  to 
bring  them  to  Guerande. 

"A  man  must  die  of  something,  but  love  is  nothing,"  said 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 

"Alas,  whatever  the  cause  may  be,  Calyste  is  dying,"  said 
his  mother.  "I  recognize  every  symptom  of  consumption, 
the  most  horrible  malady  of  my  native  land." 

"Calyste  is  dying?"  said  the  Baron,  opening  his  eyes, 
whence  trickled  two  large  tears  which,  caught  in  the  many 
furrows  of  his  face,  slowly  fell  to  the  bottom  of  his  cheeks — 
the  only  tears,  no  doubt,  that  he  had  ever  shed  in  his  life. 

He  dragged  himself  on  to  his  feet,  shuffled  to  his  son's  bed, 
took  his  hands,  and  looked  at  him. 

"What  do  you  want,  father?"  said  the  boy. 

"I  want  you  to  live !"  cried  the  Baron. 

"I  cannot  live  without  Beatrix,"  said  Calyste  to  the  old 
man,  who  sank  back  into  his  chair. 

"Where  can  I  find  a  hundred  louis  to  fetch  the  doctors  from 
Paris  ?"  cried  the  Baroness.  "We  have  yet  time." 

"A  hundred  louis !"  exclaimed  Zephirine.  "Will  they  save 
him?" 

Without  waiting  for  her  sister-in-law's  reply,  the  old  woman 
put  her  hands  into  her  pocket-holes  and  untied  an  under 
petticoat,  which  fell  with  a  heavy  sound.  She  knew  so  well 


BEATRIX  219 

where  she  had  sewn  in  her  louis,  that  she  ripped  them  out 
with  a  rapidity  that  seemed  magical.  The  gold  pieces  rang 
as  they  dropped  one  by  one.  Old  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-HoeJ 
looked  on  with  stupefied  amazement. 

"They  can  see  you !"  she  whispered  in  her  friend's  ear. 

"Thirty-seven,"  said  Zephirine,  counting  the  gold. 

"Every  one  will  know  how  much  you  have." 

"Forty-two." 

"Double  louis,  and  all  new!  how  did  you  get  them,  you 
who  cannot  see  them  ?" 

"I  could  feel  them. — Here  are  a  hundred  and  four  louis," 
cried  Zephirine.  "Is  that  enough?" 

"What  are  you  doing  ?"  asked  the  Chevalier  du  Halga, 
coming  in,  and  unable  to  imagine  what  was  the  meaning  of 
the  old  lady's  holding  out  her  lap  full  of  louis  d'or. 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  explained  the  case  in  two  words. 

"I  had  heard  of  it,"  said  he,  "and  I  came  to  bring  you  a 
hundred  and  forty  louis  I  had  kept  at  Calyste's  service,  as  he 
knows." 

The  Chevalier  took  out  of  his  pocket  two  rolls  of  coin,  which 
he  showed  them.  Mariotte,  seeing  all  these  riches,  bid  Gasse- 
lin  lock  the  door. 

"Gold  will  not  restore  him  to  health,"  said  the  Baseness, 
in  tears. 

"But  it  may  enable  him  to  run  after  his  Marquise,"  said 
du  Halga.  "Come,  Calyste  !" 

Calyste  sat  up  in  bed,  and  exclaimed  gleefully : 

"Let  us  be  off!" 

"Then  he  will  live,"  said  the  Baron,  in  a  stricken  voice, 
"and  I  may  die. — Go  and  fetch  the  cure." 

These  words  struck  them  all  with  terror.  Calyste,  seeing 
his  father  turn  ghastly  pale  from  the  painful  agitation  of 
this  scene,  could  not  restrain  his  tears.  The  cure,  who  knew 
the  decision  the  doctors  had  come  to,  had  gone  off  to  fetch 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches;  for  at  this  moment  he  displayed 
as  much  admiration  for  her  as  he  had  not  long  since  felt  re- 
pugnance, and  could  defend  her  as  a  pastor  defends  one  of  the 
favorites  of  his  flock. 


220  BEATRIX 

On  hearing  of  the  Baron's  desperate  extremity,  a  crowd 
gathered  in  the  little  street;  the  peasants,  the  marshmen, 
and  the  townsfolk  all  kneeling  in  the  courtyard,  while  the 
priest  administered  the  last  sacrament  to  the  old  Breton  war- 
rior. Everybody  was  deeply  touched  to  think  of  the  father 
dying  by  the  bed  of  his  sick  son.  The  extinction  of  the  old 
family  was  regarded  as  a  public  calamity. 

The  ceremony  struck  Calyste ;  for  a  while  his  grief  silenced 
his  passion.  All  through  the  death  struggles  of  this  heroic 
defender  of  the  Monarchy  he  remained  on  his  knees,  watch- 
ing the  approach  of  death,  and  weeping. 

The  old  man  died  in  his  chair,  in  the  presence  of  the  as- 
sembled family. 

"I  die  faithful  to  the  King  and  religion.  Great  God,  as 
the  reward  of  my  efforts,  let  Calyste  live !"  he  said. 

"I  will  live,  father,  and  obey  you,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"If  you  would  make  my  death  as  easy  as  Fanny  has  made 
my  life,  swear  that  you  will  marry." 

"I  promise  it,  father." 

It  was  touching  to  see  Calyste,  or  rather  his  ghost,  leaning 
on  the  old  Chevalier,  a  spectre  leading  a  shade,  following  the 
Baron's  bier  as  chief  mourner.  The  church  and  the  little 
square  before  the  porch  were  full  of  people,  who  had  come 
from  ten  leagues  round. 

The  Baroness  and  Zephirine  were  deeply  grieved  when  they 
saw  that,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  obey  his  father,  Calyste 
was  still  sunk  in  an  ominous  stupor.  On  the  first  day  of 
their  mourning  the  Baroness  led  her  son  to  the  seat  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  and  questioned  him.  Calyste  replied 
with  gentle  submissiveness,  but  his  answers  were  heartbreak- 
ing. 

"Mother,"  said  he,  "there  is  no  life  left  in  me ;  what  I  eat 
does  not  nourish  me,  the  air  I  breathe  into  my  lungs  does  not 
renew  my  blood ;  the  sun  seems  cold  to  me,  and  when  it  shines 
for  yon  on  the  front  of  the  house  as  at  this  moment,  where 
you  see  carvings  bathed  in  light,  I  see  dim  forms  wrapped 
in  mist.  If  Beatrix  were  here,  all  would  be  bright  once  more. 


BEATRIX  221 

There  is  but  one  thing  in  the  world  that  has  her  color  and 
form — this  flower  and  these  leaves/'  and  he  drew  out  of  his 
bosom  the  withered  blossoms  that  the  Marquise  had  given 
him. 

The  Baroness  dared  ask  him  no  more;  the  madness  be- 
trayed by  his  replies  seemed  worse  than  the  sorrow  of  his 
silence. 

But  Calyste  was  thrilled  as  he  caught  sight  of  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  through  the  windows  at  opposite  ends  of  the 
room.  Felicite  reminded  him  of  Beatrix.  Thus  it  was  to 
her  that  the  two  women  owed  the  one  gleam  of  joy  that 
lightened  their  griefs. 

"Well,  Calyste/'  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  when  she 
saw  him,  "the  carriage  is  ready;  we  will  go  together  and 
find  Beatrix.  Come." 

The  pale,  thin  face  of  the  boy,  all  jn  black,  was  brightened 
by  a  flush,  and  a  smile  dawned  on  his  features. 

"We  will  save  him !"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to 
the  mother,  who  wrung  her  hand,  shedding  tears  of  joy. 

A  week  after  the  Baron's  death,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
the  Baronne  du  Guenic,  and  Calyste  set  out  for  Paris,  leaving 
the  business  matters  in  the  hands  of  old  Mademoiselle. 

Felicite's  affection  for  Calyste  had  planned  a  brilliant  fu- 
ture for  the  poor  boy.  She  was  connected  with  the  Grand- 
lieus,  and  the  ducal  branch  was  ending  in  a  family  of  five 
daughters.  She  had  written  to  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu, 
telling  her  the  whole  story  of  Calyste,  and  announcing  her 
intention  of  selling  her  house  in  the  Eue  du  Mont-Blanc,  for 
which  a  company  of  speculators  had  offered  two  million  five 
hundred  thousand  francs.  Her  business  manager  had  already 
bought  for  her  one  of  the  finest  houses  in  the  Rue  de  Bour- 
bon, at  a  cost  of  seven  hundred  thousand  francs.  Out  of 
the  surplus  money  from  the  sale  of  the  house  in  the  Eue  du 
Mont-Blanc  she  meant  to  devote  one  million  to  repurchasing 
the  estates  of  the  du  Guenics,  and  would  leave  the  rest  of 
her  fortune  among  the  five  de  Grandlieu  girls. 


222  BEATRIX 

Felicite  knew  the  plans  made  by  the  Duke  and  Duchess, 
who  intended  that  their  youngest  daughter  should  marry  the 
Vicomte  de  Grandlieu,  the  heir  to  their  titles;  Clotilde- 
Frederique,  the  second,  meant,  she  knew,  to  remain  unmar- 
ried, without  taking  the  veil,  however,  as  her  eldest  sister 
had  done;  so  the  only  one  to  be  disposed  of  was  Sabine,  a 
pretty  creature  just  twenty  years  of  age,  on  whom  she  counted 
to  cure  Calyste  of  his  passion  for  Madame  de  Eochefide. 

During  their  journey  Felicite  told  Madame  du  Guenic  of 
all  these  plans.  The  house  in  the  Eue  de  Bourbon  was  now 
being  furnished,  and  in  it  Calyste  was  to  live  if  these  schemes 
should  succeed. 

They  all  three  went  straight  to  the  Hotel  Grandlieu,  where 
the  Baroness  was  received  with  all  the  respect  due  to  her 
name  as  a  girl  and  as  a  wife.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  of 
course,  advised  Calyste  to  see  all  he  could  of  Paris  while  she 
made  inquiries  as  to  where  Beatrix  might  be,  and  she  left 
him  to  the  fascinations  of  every  kind  which  awaited  him 
there.  The  Duchess,  her  daughters,  and  their  friends  did 
the  honors  of  the  capital  for  Calyste  just  at  the  season  when 
it  was  beginning  to  be  gayest. 

The  bustle  of  Paris  entirely  diverted  the  young  Breton's 
mind.  He  fancied  there  was  some  likeness  in  the  minds  of 
Madame  de  Eochefide  and  Sabine  de  Grandlieu,  who  at  that 
time  was  certainly  one  of  the  loveliest  and  most  charming  girls 
in  Paris  society,  and  he  thenceforward  paid  an  amount  of  at- 
tention to  her  advances  which  no  other  woman  would  have  won 
from  him.  Sabine  de  Grandlieu  played  her  part  all  the  more 
successfully  because  she  liked  Calyste. 

Matters  were  so  skilfully  managed  that  in  the  course  of  the 
winter  of  1837  the  young  Baron,  who  had  recovered  his  color 
and  youthful  beauty,  could  listen  without  disgust  when  his 
mother  reminded  him  of  his  promise  to  his  dying  father,  and 
spoke  of  his  marrying  Sabine  de  Grandlieu.  Still,  while  keep- 
ing his  promise,  he  concealed  an  indifference  which  the 
Baroness  could  discern,  while  she  hoped  it  might  be  dispelled 
by  the  satisfactions  of  a  happy  home. 


BEATRIX  223 

On  the  day  when  the  Grandlieu  family  and  the  Baroness, 
supported  on  this  occasion  by  her  relations  from  England, 
held  a  sitting  in  the  large  drawing-room  of  the  Duke's  house, 
while  Leopold  Hannequin,  the  family  notary,  explained  the 
conditions  of  the  marriage  contract  before  reading  it  through, 
Calyste,  whose  brow  was  clouded,  as  all  could  see,  refused 
point-blank  to  accept  the  benefactions  offered  to  him  by  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches.  He  still  trusted  to  Felicite's  de' 
votion,  and  believed  that  she  was  seeking  Beatrix. 

At  this  moment,  in  the  midst  of  the  dismay  of  both  fami- 
lies, Sabine  came  in,  dressed  so  as  to  remind  Calyste  of  the 
Marquise  de  Eochefide,  though  her  complexion  was  dark,  and 
she  placed  in  Calyste's  hand  the  following  letter : — 

Camille  to  Calyste. 

"Calyste,  before  retiring  into  my  cell  as  a  novice,  I  may  be 
allowed  to  glance  back  at  the  world  I  am  quitting  to  enter  the 
world  of  prayer.  This  glance  is  solely  for  you,  who  in  these 
later  days  have  been  all  the  world  to  me.  My  voice  will  reach 
you,  if  I  have  calculated  exactly,  in  the  middle  of  a  ceremony 
which  I  could  not  possibly  witness.  On  the  day  when  you 
stand  before  the  altar,  to  give  your  hand  to  a  young  and  lovely 
girl  who  is  free  to  love  before  Heaven  and  the  world,  I  shall 
be  in  a  religious  house  at  Nantes — before  the  altar  too,  but 
plighted  for  ever  to  Him  who  can  never  deceive  nor  dis- 
appoint. 

"I  write,  not  to  sadden  you,  but  to  beseech  you  not  to  allow 
any  false  delicacy  to  hinder  the  good  I  have  always  wished  to 
do  you  since  our  first  meeting.  Do  not  deny  the  right  I  have 
so  hardly  earned.  If  love  is  suffering,  then  I  have  loved  you 
well,  Calyste;  but  you  need  feel  no  remorse.  The  only  pleas- 
ures I  have  known  in  my  life  I  owe  to  you,  and  the  pain  has 
come  from  myself.  Compensate  me  for  all  this  past  suffering 
by  giving  me  one  eternal  joy.  Let  me,  dear,  be  in  some  sort 
a  perfume  in  the  flowers  of  your  life,  and  mingle  with  it  al- 
ways without  being  importunate.  I  shall  certainly  owe  to 


224  BEATRIX 

you  my  happiness  in  life  eternal ;  will  you  not  let  me  pay  my 
debt  'by  the  offering  of  some  transient  and  perishable  posses- 
sions ?  You  will  not  fail  in  generosity  ?  You  will  not  regard 
this  as  the  last  subterfuge  of  scorned  love  ? 

"Calyste,  the  world  was  nothing  to  me  without  you;  you 
made  it  a  fearful  desert,  and  you  have  led  the  infidel  Camille 
Maupin,  the  writer  of  books  and  dramas,  which  I  shall  solemn- 
ly disown — you  have  led  that  audacious  and  perverted  woman, 
tied  hand  and  foot,  to  the  throne  of  God.  I  am  now,  what  I 
ought  always  to  have  been,  an  innocent  child.  Yes,  I  have 
washed  my  robes  in  the  tears  of  repentance,  and  I  may  go  to 
the  altar  presented  by  an  angel — by  my  dearly-loved  Calyste ! 
How  sweet  it  is  to  call  you  so — now  that  my  resolution  has 
sanctified  the  word.  I  love  you  without  self-interest,  as  a 
mother  loves  her  son,  as  the  Church  loves  her  children.  I 
can  pray  for  you  and  yours  without  the  infusion  of  a  single- 
desire  but  that  for  your  happiness. 

"If  you  knew  the  supreme  peace  in  which  I  live  after  having 
lifted  myself  by  thought  above  the  petty  interests  of  the  world, 
and  how  exquisite  is  the  feeling  of  having  done  one's  duty, 
in  accordance  with  your  noble  motto,  you  would  enter  on  your 
happy  life  with  a  firm  step,  nor  glance  behind  nor  around  you. 
So  I  am  writing  to  beseech  you  to  be  true  to  yourself  and  to 
your  family. 

"My  dear,  the  society  in  which  you  must  live  cannot  exist 
without  the  religion  of  duty ;  and  you  will  misunderstand  life, 
as  I  have  misunderstood  it,  if  you  give  yourself  up  to  passion 
and  to  fancy  as  I  have  done.  Woman  can  only  be  equal  with 
man  by  making  her  life  a  perpetual  sacrifice,  as  man's  must  be 
perpetual  action.  Now  my  life  has  been,  as  it  were,  one  long 
outbreak  of  egoism.  God  perhaps  brought  you  in  its  evening 
to  my  door,  as  a  messenger  charged  with  my  punishment  and 
pardon.  Eemember  this  confession  from  a  woman  to  whom 
fame  was  a  pharos  whose  light  showed  her  the  right  way.  Be 
great !  sacrifice  your  fancy  to  your  duties  as  the  head  of  a 
house,  as  husband  and  father.  Raise  the  downtrodden  banner 
of  the  old  du  Guenics ;  show  the  present  age,  when  principles 


BEATRIX  225 

and  religion  are  denied,  what  a  gentleman  may  be  in  all  his 
glory  and  distinction. 

"Dear  child  of  my  soul,  let  me  play  the  mother  a  little :  the 
angelic  Fanny  will  not  be  jealous  of  a  woman  dead  to  the 
world,  of  whom  you  will  henceforth  know  nothing  but  that 
her  hands  are  always  raised  to  Heaven.  In  these  days  the  no- 
bility need  fortune  more  than  ever,  so  accept  a  part  of  mine, 
dear  Calyste,  and  make  a  good  use  of  it.  It  is 
not  a  gift ;  it  is  trust-money.  I  am  thinking  more  of 
your  children  and  your  old  Breton  estate  than  of  yourself 
when  I  offer  you  the  interest  which  time  has  accumulated  for 
me  on  my  Paris  property." 

"I  am  ready  to  sign,"  said  the  young  Baron,  to  the  great  de- 
light of  the  assembly. 


226  BEATRIX 


PAKT  III 
RETROSPECTIVE    ADULTERY 

THE  week  after  this,  when  the  marriage  service  had  been  cele- 
brated at  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin,  at  seven  in  the  morning — as 
was  the  custom  in  some  families  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main— Calyste  and  Sabine  got  into  a  neat  traveling-carriage 
in  the  midst  of  the  embracing,  congratulations,  and  tears  of  a 
score  of  persons  gathered  in  groups  under  the  awning  of  the 
Hotel  de  Grandlieu.  The  congratulations  were  offered  by  the 
witnesses  and  the  men;  the  tears  were  to  be  seen  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu  and  her  daughter  Clotilde — 
both  tremulous,  and  from  the  same  reflection. 

"Poor  Sabine !  she  is  starting  in  life  at  the  mercy  of  a  man 
who  is  married  not  altogether  willingly." 

Marriage  does  not  consist  solely  of  pleasures,  which  are  as 
fugitive  under  those  conditions  as  under  any  others;  it  in- 
volves a  consonance  of  tempers  and  physical  sympathies,  a 
concord  of  character,  which  make  this  social  necessity  an  ever 
new  problem.  Girls  to  be  married  know  the  conditions  and 
dangers  of  this  lottery  fully  as  well  as  their  mothers  do ;  this 
is  why  women  shed  tears  as  they  look  on  at  a  marriage,  while 
men  smile ;  the  men  think  they  risk  nothing ;  the  women  know 
pretty  well  how  much  they  risk. 

In  another  carriage,  which  had  started  first,  was  the  Bar- 
onne  du  Guenic,  to  whom  the  Duchess  had  said  at  parting : 

(CYo\i  are  a  mother  though  you  have  only  a  son.  Try  to  fill 
my  place  to  my  darling  Sabine." 

On  the  box  of  that  carriage  sat  a  groom  serving  as  a  courier, 
and  behind  it  two  ladies'-maids.  The  four  postilion's,  in 
splendid  liveries — each  carriage  having  four  horses — all  had 


BEATRIX  227 

nosegays  in  their  button-holes  and  favors  in  their  hats.  The 
Due  de  Grandlieu,  even  by  paying  them,  had  the  greatest  dif- 
ficulty in  persuading  them  to  remove  the  ribands.  The 
French  postilion  is  eminently  intelligent,  but  he  loves  his 
joke ;  and  these  took  the  money,  and  replaced  the  favors  out- 
side the  city  walls. 

"Well,  well,  good-bye,  Sabine !"  said  the  Duchess.  "Ke- 
member  your  promise,  and  write  often. — Calyste,  I  say  no 
more,  but  you  understand  me." 

Clotilde,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  youngest  sister  Athe- 
nafe,  who  was  smiling  at  the  Vicomte  Juste  de  Grandlieu,  gave 
the  bride  a  keen  glance  through  her  tears,  and  watched  the 
carriage  till  it  disappeared  amid  the  repeated  salvo  of  four 
postilions'  whips,  noisier  than  pistol  shots.  In  a  very  short 
time  the  gay  procession  reached  the  Esplanade  of  the  Inva- 
lides,  followed  the  Quay  to  the  Pont  d'lena,  the  Passy  Gate, 
the  Versailles  avenue,  and,  finally,  the  highroad  to  Brittany. 

Is  it  not  strange,  to  say  the  least,  that  the  artisan  class  of 
Switzerland  and  Germany,  and  the  greatest  families  of  France 
and  England,  obey  the  same  custom,  and  start  on  a  journey 
after  the  nuptial  ceremony?  The  rich  pack  themselves  into 
a  box  on  wheels.  The  poor  walk  gaily  along  the  roads,  rest- 
ing in  the  woods,  feeding  at  every  inn,  so  long  as  their  glee, 
or  rather  their  money,  holds  out.  A  moralist  would  find  it 
difficult  to  decide  which  is  the  finest  flower  of  modesty — 
that  which  hides  from  the  public  eye,  inaugurating  the  do- 
mestic hearth  and  bed  as  the  worthy  citizen  does,  or  that 
which  flies  from  the  family  and  displays  itself  in  the  fierce 
light  of  the  highroad  to  the  eyes  of  strangers?  Refined 
natures  must  crave  for  solitude,  and  avoid  the  world  and 
the  family  alike.  The  rush  of  love  that  begins  a  marriage 
is  a  diamond,  a  pearl,  a  gem  cut  by  the  highest  of  all  arts,  a 
treasure  to  be  buried  deep  in  the  heart. 

Who  could  tell  the  tale  of  a  honeymoon  excepting  the 
bride?  And  how  many  women  would  here  admit  that  this 
period  of  uncertain  duration — sometimes  of  only  a  single 
night — is  the  preface  to  married  life?  Sabine's  first  three 


238  BEATRIX 

letters  to  her  mother  betrayed  a  state  of  things  which,  un- 
fortunately, will  not  seem  new  to  some  young  wives,  nor  to 
many  old  women.  All  who  have  become  sick-nurses,  so  to 
speak,  to  a  man's  heart  have  not  found  it  out  so  quickly  as 
Sabine  did.  But  the  girls  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain, 
when  they  are  keen-witted,  are  women  already  in  mind.  Be- 
fore marriage,  they  have  received  the  baptism  of  fine  man- 
ners from  the  world  and  from  their  mothers.  Duchesses, 
anxious  to  perpetuate  the  tradition,  are  often  unaware  of  all 
the  bearings  of  their  lessons  when  they  say  to  their  daughters 
— "No  one  ever  does  that." — "Do  not  laugh  at  such  things." — 
"You  must  never  fling  yourself  on  a  sofa,  you  must  sit  down 
quietly." — "Never  do  such  a  thing  again." — "It  is  most  in- 
correct, my  dear!"  and  so  forth. 

And  critical  middle-class  folks  refuse  to  recognize  any  in- 
nocence or  virtue  in  young  creatures  who,  like  Sabine,  are 
virgin  souls,  but  perfected  by  cleverness,  by  the  habits  of 
good  style,  and  good  taste,  knowing  from  the  age  of  sixteen 
how  to  use  an  opera  glass.  Sabine,  to  lend  herself  to  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches'  schemes  for  her  marriage,  could  not 
but  be  of  the  school  of  Mademoiselle  de  Chaulieu.  This  in- 
nate mother-wit,  these  gifts  of  birth,  may  perhaps  make  this 
young  wife  as  interesting  as  the  heroine  of  the  Memoires  de 
deux  jeunes  Mariees,  in  which  we  see  the  vanity  of  such  social 
advantages  in  the  great  crisis  of  married  life,  where  they  are 
often  crushed  under  the  double  weight  of  unhappiness  and 
passion. 


To  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu 

GUERANDE,  April  183& 

"DEAR  MOTHER, — You  can  easily  understand  why  I  did 
not  write  to  you  on  the  journey;  one's  mind  turns  like  the 
wheels.  So  here  I  have  been  these  two  days  in  the  depths 
of  Brittany,  at  the  Hotel  clu  Guenic,  a  house  carved  all  over 
like  a  cocoanut  box.  Notwithstanding  the  affectionate  at- 


BEATRIX  229 

tentions  of  Catyste's  family,  I  feel  an  eager  longing  to  fly 
away  to  you,  and  tell  you  a  thousand  things  which  I  feel  can 
only  be  told  to  a  mother. 

"Dear  mamma,  Calyste  married  me  cherishing  a  great  sor- 
row in  his  soul;  we  all  of  us  know  it,  and  you  did  not  dis- 
guise the  difficulties  of  my  position ;  but,  alas  !  they  are  greater 
than  you  imagined.  Oh,  dear  mamma,  how  much  experience 
we  may  acquire  in  a  few  days — why  should  I  not  say  to  you 
in  a  few  hours?  All  your  counsels  proved  useless,  and  you 
will  understand  why  by  this  simple  fact:  I  love  Calyste  as 
if  he  were  not  my  husband.  That  is  to  say,  if  I  were  married 
to  another  man  and  were  traveling  with  Calyste,  I  should 
love  him  and  hate  my  husband.  Consider  him,  then,  as  a 
man  loved  entirely,  involuntarily,  absolutely,  and  as  many 
more  adverbs  as  you  choose  to  supply.  So,  in  spite  of 
your  warnings,  my  slavery  is  an  established  fact. 

"You  advised  me  to  keep  myself  lofty,  haughty,  dignified,, 
and  proud,  in  order  to  bring  Calyste  to  a  state  of  feeling 
which  should  never  undergo  any  changes  throughout  life ;  in 
the  esteem  and  respect  which  must  sanctify  the  wife  in  the 
home  and  family.  You  spoke  warmly,  and  with  reason,  no 
doubt,  against  the  young  women  of  the  day  who,  under  the 
excuse  of  living  on  good  terms  with  their  husbands,  begin 
by  being  docile,  obliging,  submissive,  with  a  familiarity,  a 
free-and-easyness  which  are,  in  your  opinion,  rather  too  cheap 
— a  word  I  own  to  not  understanding  yet,  but  we  shall  see 
by  and  by — and  which,  if  you  are  right,  are  only  the  early  and 
rapid  stages  towards  indifference  and  perhaps  contempt. 

"  'Remember  that  you  are  a  Grandlieu,'  you  said  in  my  ear. 

"This  advice,  full  of  the  maternal  eloquence  of  Dedalus, 
has  shared  the  fate  of  mythological  things.  Dear,  darling 
mother,  could  you  believe  that  I  should  begin  by  the  catas- 
trophe which,  according  to  you,  closes  the  honeymoon  of  the 
young  wives  of  our  day  ? 

"When  Calyste  and  I  were  alone  in  the  carriage,  each 
thought  the  other  as  silly  as  himself,  as  we  both  perceived 


23c  BEATRIX 

the  importance  of  the  first  word,  the  first  look;  and  each, 
bewildered  by  the  marriage  sacrament,  sat  looking  out  of  a 
window.  It  was  so  preposterous  that,  as  we  got  near  the 
city  gate,  Monsieur  made  me  a  little  speech  in  a  rather  broken 
voice — a  speech  prepared,  no  doubt,  like  all  extempore  ef- 
forts, to  which  I  listened  with  a  beating  heart,  and  which 
I  take  the  liberty  of  epitomizing  for  your  benefit. 

"  'My  dear  Sabine/  said  he,  'I  wish  you  to  be  happy,  and, 
above  all,  to  be  happy  in  your  own  way/  said  he.  'In  our 
position,  instead  of  deceiving  each  other  as  to  our  characters 
and  sentiments  by  magnanimous  concessions,  let  us  both  be 
now  what  we  should  be  a  few  years  hence.  Kegard  me  as 
being  your  brother,  as  I  would  wish  to  find  a  sister  in  you.' 

"Though  this  was  most  delicately  meant,  I  did  not  find 
in  this  first  speech  of  married  love  anything  answering  to  the 
eagerness  of  my  soul,  and,  after  replying  that  I  felt  quite  as  he 
did,  I  remained  pensive.  After  this  declaration  of  rights  to 
be  equally  cold,  we  talked  of  the  weather,  the  dust,  the  houses, 
and  the  scenery  with  the  most  gracious  politeness,  I  laughing 
a  rather  forced  laugh,  he  lost  in  dreams. 

"Finally,  as  we  left  Versailles,  I  asked  Calyste  pointblank 
— calling  him  'my  dear  Calyste/  as  he  called  me  'my  dear 
Sabine' — if  he  could  tell  me  the  history  of  the  events  which 
had  brought  him  to  death's  door,  and  to  which  I  owed  the 
honor  of  being  his  wife.  He  hesitated  for  a  long  time.  In 
fact,  it  was  the  subject  of  a  little  discussion  lasting  through 
three  stages;  I  trying  to  play  the  part  of  a  wilful  girl  de- 
termined to  sulk;  he  debating  with  himself  on  the  ominous 
question  asked  as  a  challenge  to  Charles  X.  by  the  public 
press :  'Will  the  King  give  in  ?'  At  last,  when  we  had  left 
Verneuil,  and  after  swearing  often  enough  to  satisfy  three 
dynasties  that  I  would  never  remind  him  of  his  folly,  never 
treat  him  coldly,  and  so  on,  he  painted  his  passion  for  Mad- 
ame de  Rochefide :  'I  do  not  wish/  he  said,  in  conclusion,  'that 
there  should  be  any  secrets  between  us.' 

"Poor  dear  Calyste  did  not  know,  I  suppose,  that  his  friend 


BEATRIX  231 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and  you  had  been  obliged  to  tell 
me  all;  for  a  girl  cannot  be  dressed  as  I  was  on  the  day  of 
the  contract  without  being  taught  her  part. 

"I  cannot  but  tell  everything  to  so  good  a  mother  as  you 
are.  Well,  then,  I  was  deeply  hurt  at  seeing  that  he  had 
yielded  far  less  to  my  request  than  to  his  own  wish  to  talk 
about  the  unknown  object  of  his  passion.  Will  you  blame 
me,  dearest  mother,  for  having  wanted  to  know  the  extent 
of  this  sorrow,  of  the  aching  wound  in  his  heart  of  which 
you  had  told  me? 

"Thus,  within  eight  hours  of  having  been  blessed  by  the 
Cure  of  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin,  your  Sabine  found  herself 
in  the  rather  false  position  of  a  young  wife  hearing  from  her 
husband's  own  lips  his  confidences  as  to  a  cheated  passion  and 
the  misdeeds  of  a  rival.  Yes,  I  was  playing  a  part  in  the 
drama  of  a  young  wife,  officially  informed  that  she  owed  her 
marriage  to  the  disdain  of  an  old  beauty ! 

"By  this  narrative  I  gained  what  I  sought.  'What?'  you 
will  ask.  Oh,  my  dear  mother!  on  clocks  and  chimney- 
carvings  I  have  often  enough  seen  Loves  leading  each  other 
on,  hand-in-hand,  to  put  the  lesson  into  practice!  Calyste 
ended  the  romance  of  his  memories  with  the  most  vehement 
protestations  that  he  had  entirely  got  over  what  he  called 
his  madness.  Every  protest  needs  a  signature.  The  happy 
hapless  one  took  my  hand,  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  then  held 
it  for  a  long  time.  A  declaration  followed.  This  one  seemed 
to  me  more  suitable  than  the  first  to  our  position  as  man 
and  wife,  though  our  lips  did  not  utter  a  single  word.  This 
happiness  I  owed  to  my  spirited  indignation  against  the  bad 
taste  of  a  woman  so  stupid  as  not  to  love  my  handsome  and 
delightful  Calyste. 

"I  am  called  away  to  play  a  game  of  cards,  which  I  have 
not  yet  mastered.  I  will  continue  my  letter  to-morrow.  That 
I  should  have  to  leave  you  just  now  to  make  the  fifth  at  a 
game  of  mouche!  Such  a  thing  is  impossible  anywhere  but 
in  the  depths  of  Brittany. 


232  BEATRIX 

"May. 

"I  resume  the  tale  of  my  Odyssey.  By  the  third  day  your 
children  had  dropped  the  ceremonial  vous  and  adopted  the 
lover-like  tu.  My  mother-in-law,  delighted  to  see  us  happy, 
tried  to  fill  your  place,  dearest  mother;  and,  as  is  always 
the  case  with  those  who  take  a  part  with  the  idea  of  effacing 
past  impressions,  she  is  so  delightful  that  she  has  been  almost 
as  much  to  me  as  you  could  be.  She,  no  doubt,  guessed  how 
heroic  my  conduct  was ;  at  the  beginning  of  our  journey  she 
hid  her  anxiety  too  carefully  not  to  betray  it  by  her  excessive 
precaution. 

"When  I  caught  sight  of  the  towers  of  Guerande  I  said 
in  your  son-in-law's  ear,  'Have  you  quite  forgotten  her  ?' 

"And  my  husband,  now  my  angel,  had  perhaps  never  known 
the  depth  of  an  artless  and  genuine  affection,  for  that  little 
speech  made  him  almost  crazy  with  joy. 

"Unluckily,  my  desire  to  make  him  forget  Madame  de 
Rochefide  led  me  too  far.  How  could  I  help  it !  I  love  him, 
and  I  am  almost  Portuguese,  for  I  am  like  you  rather  than 
my  father.  Calyste  accepted  everything,  as  spoilt  children 
do;  he  is  above  everything  an  only  son.  Between  you  and 
me,  I  will  never  let  my  daughter — if  I  ever  should  have  a 
daughter — marry  an  only  son.  It  is  quite  enough  to  have 
to  manage  one  tyrant,  and  in  an  only  son  there  are  several. 
And  so  we  exchanged  parts;  I  played  the  devoted  wife. 
There  are  dangers  in  self-devotion  to  gain  an  end;  it  is  loss 
of  dignity.  So  I  have  to  announce  the  wreck  in  me  of  that 
semi-virtue;  dignity  is  really  no  more  than  a  screen  set  up 
by  pride,  behind  which  we  may  fume  at  our  ease.  How  could 
I  help  myself,  mamma ;  you  were  not  here,  and  I  looked  into 
a  gulf.  If  I  had  maintained  my  dignity,  I  should  have 
known  the  chill  pangs  of  a  sort  of  brotherliness,  which  would 
certainly  have  become  simple  indifference.  And  what  future 
would  have  lain  before  me? 

"As  a  result  of  my  devotion,  I  am  Calyste's  slave.  Shall 
I  get  out  of  that  position?  We  shall  see;  for  the  present 
I  like  it.  I  love  Calyste — I  love  him  entirely  with  the  frenzy 


BEATRIX  233 

of  a  mother  who  thinks  everything  right  that  her  son  can  do, 
even  when  he  punishes  her  a  little. 

"  May  15. 

"So  far,  dear  mother,  marriage  has  come  to  me  in  a  most 
attractive  form.  I  lavish  all  my  tenderest  affection  on  the 
handsomest  of  men,  who  was  thrown  over  by  a  fool  for  the 
sake  of  a  wretched  singer — for  the  woman  is  evidently  a  fool, 
and  a  fool  in  cold  blood,,  the  worst  sort  of  fool.  I  am  chari- 
table in  my  lawful  passion,  and  heal  his  scars  while  inflicting 
eternal  wounds  on  myself.  Yes,  for  the  more  I  love  Calyste, 
the  more  I  feel  that  I  should  die  of  grief  if  anything  put  an 
end  to  our  present  happiness.  And  I  am  worshiped,  too, 
by  all  the  family,  and  by  the  little  company  that  meets  at  the 
Hotel  du  Guenic,  all  of  them  born  figures  in  some  ancient 
tapestry,  and  having  stepped  out  of  it  to  show  that  the  im- 
possible can  exist.  One  day  when  I  am  alone  I  will  describe 
them  to  you — Aunt  Zephirine,  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel, 
the  Chevalier  du  Halga,  the  Demoiselles  de  Kergarouet,  and 
the  rest,  down  to  the  two  servants,  whom  I  shall  be  allowed, 
I  hope,  to  take  to  Paris — Mariotte  and  Gasselin,  who  regard 
me  as  an  angel  alighted  on  earth  from  heaven,  and  who 
are  still  startled  when  I  speak  to  them — they  are  all  figures 
to  put  under  glass  shades. 

"My  mother-in-law  solemnly  installed  us  in  the  rooms  she 
and  her  deceased  husband  had  formerly  inhabited.  The 
scene  was  a  touching  one.  'I  lived  all  my  married  life  here/ 
said  she,  'quite  happy.  May  that  be  a  happy  omen  for  you, 
my  dear  children!' 

"And  she  has  taken  Calyste's  room.  The  saintly  woman 
seemed  to  wish  to  divest  herself  of  her  memories  and  her 
admirable  life  as  a  wife  to  endow  us  with  them. 

"The  province  of  Brittany,  this  town,  this  family  with  its 
antique  manners — the  whole  thing,  in  spite  of  the  absurdities, 
which  are  invisible  to  any  but  a  mocking  Parisian  woman, 
has  something  indescribably  grandiose,  even  in  its  details,  to 
be  expressed  only  by  the  word  sacred.  The  tenants  of  the 
vast  estates  of  the  du  Guenics,  repurchased,  as  you  know, 


234  BEATRIX 

by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches — whom  we  are  to  visit  in  the 
convent — all  came  out  to  receive  us.  These  good  folks  in 
their  holiday  dresses,  expressing  the  greatest  joy  at  greet- 
ing Calyste  as  really  their  master  once  more,  made  me  under- 
stand what  Brittany  is,  and  feudality,  and  old  France.  It 
was  a  festival  I  will  not  write  about;  I  will  tell  you  when 
we  meet.  The  terms  of  all  the  leases  have  been  proposed  by 
the  tenants  themselves,  and  we  are  to  sign  after  the  tour  of 
inspection  we  are  to  make  round  our  lands  that  have  been 
pledged  this  century  and  a  half.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
tells  us  that  these  yeomen  have  assessed  the  returns  with  an  ac- 
curacy that  Paris  folk  would  not  believe  in.  We  are  to 
start  three  days  hence,  and  ride  everywhere. 

"On  my  return  I  will  write  again,  dear  mother ;  but  what 
can  I  have  to  say  to  you,  since  my  happiness  is  already  com- 
plete ?  So  I  must  write  what  you  know  already,  namely,  how 
much  I  love  you." 

II 

From  the  same  to  the  same 

"After  playing  the  part  of  the  Lady  of  the  Castle,  wor- 
shiped by  her  vassals  as  though  the  revolutions  of  1830  and 
1789  had  never  torn  down  our  banners ;  after  riding  through 
woods,  halting  at  farms,  dining  at  old  tables  spread  with 
cloths  a  century  old,  and  groaning  under  Homeric  dishes 
served  in  antediluvian  plate;  after  drinking  delicious  wine 
out  of  goblets  like  those  we  see  in  the  hands  of  conjurors; 
after  salvos  fired  at  dessert,  and  deafening  shouts  of  'Vive  les 
du  Guenics !'  and  balls,  where  the  orchestra  is  a  bagpipe,  which 
a  man  blows  at  for  ten  hours  on  end!  and  such  bouquets! 
and  brides  who  insist  on  having  our  blessing!  and  healthy 
fatigue,  cured  by  such  sleep  as  I  had  never  known,  and  a 
delicious  waking  to  love  as  radiant  as  the  sun  that  shines 
above  us,  twinkling  on  a  myriad  insects  that  hum  in  genuine 
Breton !  Finally,  after  a  grotesque  visit  to  the  Castle  of  du 


BEATRIX  235 

Guenic,  where  the  windows  are  open  gates,  and  the  cows 
might  pasture  on  the  grass  grown  in  the  halls;  but  we 
have  vowed  to  restore  it,  and  furnish  it,  so  as  to  come 
here  every  year  and  be  hailed  by  the  vassals  of  the  clan,  one 
of  whom  carried  our  banner. — Ouf !  here  I  am  at  Nantes. 

"What  a  day  we  had  when  we  went  to  le  Guenic !  The 
priest  and  all  the  clergy  came  out  to  meet  us,  all  crowned 
with  flowers,  mother,  and  blessed  us  with  such  joy !  The 
tears  come  into  my  eyes  as  I  write  about  it.  And  my  lordly 
Calyste  played  his  part  as  a  liege  like  a  figure  of  Walter 
Scott's.  Monsieur  received  homage  as  if  we  had  stepped 
back  into  the  thirteenth  century.  I  heard  girls  and  women 
saying,  'What  a  handsome  master  we  have !'  just  like  the 
chorus  of  a  comic  opera. 

"The  old  folks  discussed  Calyste's  likeness  to  the  du  Guenics 
whom  they  had  known.  Oh !  Brittany  is  a  noble  and  sublime 
country,  a  land  of  faith  and  religion.  But  progress  has  an 
eye  on  it ;  bridges  and  roads  are  to  be  made,  ideas  will  invade 
it,  and  farewell  to  the  sublime.  The  peasants  will  certainly 
cease  to  be  as  free  and  proud  as  I  saw  them  when  it  has 
been  proved  to  them  that  they  are  Calyste's  equals,  if,  indeed, 
they  can  be  brought  to  believe  it. 

"So  after  the  poetry  of  this  pacific  restoration,  when  we 
had  signed  the  leases  we  left  that  delightful  country,  flowery 
and  smiling,  gloomy  and  barren  by  turns,  and  we  came  here 
to  kneel  before  her  to  whom  we  owe  our  good  fortune,  and 
give  her  thanks.  Calyste  and  I  both  felt  the  need  to  thank 
the  novice  of  the  Visitation.  In  memory  of  her  he  will  bear 
on  his  shield  quarterly  the  arms  of  des  Touches:  party  per 
pale  engrailed  or  and  vert.  He  will  assume  one  of  the  silver 
eagles  as  a  supporter,  and  place  in  its  beak  the  pretty  womanly 
motto,  'Souviegne-vous.' — So  we  went  yesterday  to  the  Con- 
vent of  the  Ladies  of  the  Visitation,  conducted  by  the  Abbe 
Grimont,  a  friend  of  the  Guenic  family;  he  told  us  that  your 
beloved  Felicite,  dear  mamma,  is  a  saint;  indeed,  she  can 
be  no  less  to  him,  since  this  illustrious  conversion  has  led 
to  his  being  made  vicar-general  of  the  diocese.  Mademoiselle 


236  BEATRIX 

des  Touches  would  not  see  Calyste ;  she  received  me  alone.  I 
found  her  a  little  altered,  paler  and  thinner;  she  seemed  ex- 
tremely pleased  by  my  visit. 

"  'Tell  Calyste/  said  she  in  a  low  voice,  'that  my  not  seeing 
him  is  a  matter  of  conscience  and  self-discipline,  for  I  have 
permission;  but  I  would  rather  not  purchase  the  happiness 
of  a  few  minutes  with  months  of  suffering !  Oh,  if  you  could 
only  know  how  difficult  I  find  it  to  answer  when  I  am  asked, 
"What  are  you  thinking  about  ?"  The  mistress  of  the  novices 
can  never  understand  the  vastness  and  multiplicity  of  the 
ideas  which  rush  through  my  brain  like  a  whirlwind.  Some- 
times I  see  Italy  once  more,  or  Paris,  with  all  their  display, 
always  with  Calyste,  who/  she  said  with  the  poetic  turn  you 
know  so  well,  'is  the  sun  of  my  memory.  I  was  too  old  to 
be  admitted  to  the  Carmelites,  so  I  chose  the  Order  of  Saint 
Francis  de  Sales,  solely  because  he  said,  "I  will  have  you  bare- 
headed instead  of  barefoot !"  disapproving  of  such  austerities 
as  only  mortify  the  body.  In  fact,  the  head  is  the  sinner. 
The  holy  Bishop  did  well  to  make  his  rule  stern  to  the  brain 
and  merciless  to  the  will ! — This  was  what  I  needed,  for  my 
mind  is  the  real  culprit;  it  deceived  me  as  to  my  heart  till 
the  age  of  forty,  when,  though  we  are  sometimes  for  a  moment 
forty  times  happier  than  younger  women,  we  are  sometimes 
fifty  times  more  wretched. — Well,  my  child,  and  are  you 
happy?'  she  ended  by  asking  me,  evidently  glad  to  say  no 
more  about  herself. 

"  'You  see  me  in  a  rapture  of  love  and  happiness/  I  told 
her. 

"  'Calyste  is  as  kind  and  genuine  as  he  is  noble  and  hand- 
some/ she  said  gravely.  'You  are  my  heiress;  you  have,  be- 
sides my  fortune,  the  twofold  ideal  of  which  I  dreamed. — I 
am  glad  of  what  I  have  done/  she  added  after  a  pause.  'Now, 
my  child,  do  not  be  blinded.  You  have  easily  grasped  happi- 
ness, you  had  only  to  put  out  your  hand;  now  try  to  keep 
it.  If  you  had  come  here  merely  to  carry  away  the  advice 
of  my  experience,  your  journey  would  be  well  rewarded. 
Calyste  at  this  moment  is  fired  by  an  infection  of  passion; 


BEATRIX  237 

you  did  not  inspire  it.  To  make  your  happiness  durable, 
dear  child,  strive  to  add  this  element  to  the  former  one. 
In  your  own  interest  and  your  husband's,  try  to  be  capricious, 
coy,  a  little  severe  if  necessary.  I  do  not  advise  a  spirit  of 
odious  calculation,  nor  tyranny,  but  the  science  of  conduct. 
Between  usury  and  extravagance  there  is  economy.  Learn 
to  acquire  a  certain  decent  control  of  your  husband. 

"  'These  are  the  last  worldly  words  I  shall  ever  speak ;  I 
have  been  waiting  to  say  them  to  you,  for  my  conscience 
quaked  at  the  notion  of  having  sacrificed  you  to  save  Calyste ; 
attach  him  to  you,  give  him  children,  let  him  respect  you  as 
their  mother. — Finally/  she  added  in  an  agitated  voice,  'man- 
age that  he  shall  never  see  Beatrix  again  I' 

"This  name  was  enough  to  produce  a  sort  of  torpor  in  us 
both ;  we  remained  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  exchanging 
our  vague  sentiments  of  uneasiness. 

"  'Are  you  going  home  to  Guerande  ?'  she  asked. 

"  'Yes/  said  I. 

"  'Well,  never  go  to  les  Touches.  I  was  wrong  to  give  you 
the  place/ 

"'Why?' 

"  'Child,  les  Touches  is  for  you  a  Bluebeard's  cupboard,  for 
there  is  nothing  so  dangerous  as  rousing  a  sleeping  pas- 
sion/ 

"I  have  given  you  the  substance  of  our  conversation,  my 
dear  mother.  If  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  made  me  talk, 
on  the  other  hand  she  gave  me  much  to  think  about — all  the 
more  because  in  the  excitement  of  our  travels,  and  my  happi- 
ness with  my  Calyste,  I  had  forgotten  the  serious  matter  of 
which  I  spoke  in  my  first  letter. 

"After  admiring  Nantes,  a  delightful  and  splendid  city; 
after  going  to  see,  in  the  Place  de  Bretagne,  the  spot  where 
Charette  so  nobly  fell,  we  arranged  to  return  to  Saint-Nazaire 
down  the  Loire,  since  we  had  already  gone  from  Nantes  to 
Guerande  by  the  road.  Public  traveling  is  an  invention  of 
the  modern  monster  the  Monopole.  Two  rather  pretty  women 
belonging  to  Nantes  were  behaving  rather  noisily  on  deck, 


238  BEATRIX 

suffering  evidently  from  Kergarouetism — a  jest  you  will  ui> 
derstand  when  I  shall  have  told  you  what  the  Kergarouets 
are.  Calyste  behaved  very  well.  Like  a  true  gentleman,  he 
did  not  parade  me  as  his  wife.  Though  pleased  by  his  good 
taste,  like  a  child  with  his  first  drum,  I  thought  this  an  ad- 
mirable opportunity  for  practising  the  system  recommended 
by  Camille  Maupin — for  it  was  certainly  not  the  novice  that 
had  spoken  to  me.  I  put  on  a  little  sulky  face,  and  Calyste 
was  very  flatteringly  distressed.  In  reply  to  his  question, 
whispered  in  my  ear,  'What  is  the  matter?'  I  answered  the 
truth: 

"  'Nothing  whatever/ 

"And  I  could  judge  at  once  how  little  effect  the  truth  has 
in  the  first  instance.  Falsehood  is  a  decisive  weapon  in 
cases  where  rapidity  is  the  only  salvation  for  a  woman  or  an 
empire.  Calyste  became  very  urgent,  very  anxious.  I  led 
him  to  the  forepart  of  the  boat,  among  a  mass  of  ropes,  and 
there,  in  a  voice  full  of  alarms,  if  not  of  tears,  I  told  him  all 
the  woes  and  fears  of  a  woman  whose  husband  happens  to  be 
the  handsomest  of  men. 

"'Oh,  Calyste!'  said  I,  'there  is  one  dreadful  blot  on  our 
marriage.  You  did  not  love  me !  you  did  not  choose  me ! 
You  did  not  stand  fixed  like  a  statue  when  you  saw  me  for  the 
first  time.  My  heart,  my  attachment,  my  tenderness  cry  out 
to  you  for  affection,  and  some  day  you  will  punish  me  for 
having  been  the  first  to  offer  the  treasure  of  my  pure  and 
involuntary  girlish  love  !  I  ought  to  be  grudging  and  capric- 
ious, but  I  have  no  strength  for  it  against  you. — If  that  odious 
woman  who  scorned  you  had  been  in  my  place  now,  you  would 
not  even  have  seen  those  two  hideous  provincial  creatures  who 
would  be  classed  with  cattle  by  the  Paris  octroi.' 

"Calyste,  my  dear  mother,  had  tears  in  his  eyes  and  turned 
away  to  hide  them;  he  saw  la  Basse  Indre,  and  ran  to  desire 
the  captain  to  put  us  on  shore.  No  one  can  hold  out  against 
such  a  response,  especially  as  it  was  followed  by  a  stay  of 
three  hours  in  a  little  country  inn,  where  we  breakfasted  off 
fresh  fish,  in  a  little  room  such  as  genre  painters  love,  while 


BEATRIX  239 

through  the  windows  came  the  roar  of  the  ironworks  of  Indret 
across  the  broad  waters  of  the  Loire.  Seeing  the  happy 
result  of  the  experiments  of  experience,  I  exclaimed,  'Oh, 
sweet  Felicite !' 

"Calyste,  who  of  course  knew  nothing  of  the  advice  I  had 
received,  or  of  the  artfulness  of  iny  behavior,  fell  into  a  de- 
lightful punning  blunder  by  replying,  'Never  let  us  forget 
it ! — We  will  send  an  artist  here  to  sketch  the  scene.' 

"I  laughed,  dear  mamma ! — well,  I  laughed  till  Calyste  was 
quite  disconcerted  and  on  the  point  of  being  angry. 

"  'Yes/  said  I,  'but  there  is  in  my  heart  a  picture  of  this 
landscape,  of  this  scene,  which  nothing  can  ever  efface,  and 
inimitable  in  its  color/ 

"Indeed,  mother,  I  find  it  impossible  to  give  my  love  the 
appearance  of  warfare  or  hostility.  Calyste  can  do  what  he 
likes  with  me.  That  tear  is,  I  believe,  the  first  he  ever  be- 
stowed on  me  !  is  it  not  worth  more  than  a  second  declaration 
of  a  wife's  rights  ?  A  heartless  woman,  after  the  scene  on  the 
boat,  would  have  been  mistress  of  the  situation;  I  lost  all  I 
had  gained.  By  your  system,  the  more  I  am  a  wife,  the  more 
I  become  a  sort  of  prostitute,  for  I  am  a  coward  in  happiness ; 
1  cannot  hold  out  against  a  glance  from  my  lord.  I  do  not 
abandon  myself  to  love ;  I  hug  it  as  a  mother  clasps  her  child 
to  her  breast  for  fear  of  some  harm." 


Ill 

From  the  same  to  the  same 

"  July,  GUlSRANDE. 

"Oh !  my  dear  mother,  to  be  jealous  after  three  months  of 
married  life!  My  heart  is  indeed  full.  I  feel  the  deepest 
hatred  and  the  deepest  love. — I  am  worse  than  deserted,  I  am 
not  loved ! — Happy  am  I  to  have  a  mother,  another  heart  to 
which  I  may  cry  at  my  ease. 

"To  us  wives  who  are  still  to  some  extent  girls,  it  is  quite 
enough  to  be  told — 'Here,  among  the  keys  of  your  palace,  ia 


240  BEATKIX 

one  all  rusty  with  remembrance;  go  where  you  will,  enjoy 
everything,  but  beware  of  visiting  les  Touches' — to  make  us 
rush  in  hot-foot,  our  eyes  full  of  Evess  curiosity.  What  a 
provoking  element  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  infused 
into  my  love !  And  why  was  I  forbidden  les  Touches  ?  What ! 
does  such  happiness  as  mine  hang  on  an  excursion,  on  a 
visit  to  an  old  house  in  Brittany  ?  What  have  I  to  fear  ? — In 
short,  add  to  Mrs.  Bluebeard's  reasons  the  craving  that  gnaws 
at  every  woman's  heart  to  know  whether  her  power  is  preca- 
rious or  durable,  and  you  will  understand  why  one  day  I  asked, 
with  an  air  of  indifference : 

"  'What  sort  of  place  is  les  Touches  ?' 

"  'Les  Touches  is  your  own/  said  my  adorable  mother-in- 
law. 

"  'Ah !     If  only  Calyste  had  never  set  his  foot  there ! 

said  Aunt  Zephirine,  shaking  her  head. 

"  'He  would  not  now  be  my  husband,'  said  I. 

"  'Then  you  know  what  happened  there  ?'  said  my  mother- 
in-law  sharply. 

"  'It  is  a  place  of  perdition,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel.  'Mademoiselle  des  Touches  committed  many  sins  there 
for  which  she  now  begs  forgiveness  of  God.' 

"  'And  has  it  not  saved  that  noble  creature's  soul,  besides 
making  the  fortune  of  the  Convent  ?'  cried  the  Chevalier  du 
Halga.  'The  Abbe  Grimont  tells  me  that  she  has  given  a 
hundred  thousand  francs  to  the  Ladies  of  the  Visitation.' 

"  'Would  you  like  to  go  to  les  Touches  ?'  said  the  Baroness. 
'It  is  worth  seeing/ 

"  'No,  no !'  cried  I  eagerly. 

"Now,  does  not  this  little  scene  strike  you  as  taken  from 
some  diabolical  drama?  And  it  was  repeated  under  a  hun- 
dred pretences.  At  last  my  mother-in-law  said : 

"  'I  understand  why  you  should  not  wish  to  go  to  les 
Touches.  You  are  quite  right/ 

"Confess,  dear  mamma,  that  such  a  stab,  so  unintentionally 
given,  would  have  made  you  determine  that  you  must  know 


BEATRIX  241 

whether  your  happiness  really  rested  on  so  frail  a  basis  that 
it  must  perish  under  one  particular  roof?  I  must  do  this 
justice  to  Calyste,  he  had  never  proposed  to  visit  this  retreat 
which  is  now  his  property.  Certainly  when  we  love,  we  be- 
come bereft  of  our  senses,  for  his  silence  and  reserve  nettled 
me,  till  I  said  one  day,  'What  are  you  afraid  of  seeing  at  les 
Touches  that  you  never  mention  it  even  ?' 

"  'Let  us  go  there,'  said  he. 

"I  was  caught,  as  every  woman  is  who  wishes  to  be  caught, 
and  who  trusts  to  chance  to  cut  the  Gordian  knot  of  her 
hesitancy.  So  we  went  to  les  Touches. 

"It  is  a  delightful  spot,  most  artistically  tasteful,  and  I 
revel  in  the  abyss  whither  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had 
warned  me  never  to  go.  All  poison-flowers  are  beautiful. 
The  devil  sows  them — for  there  are  flowers  of  Satan's  and 
flowers  from  God !  We  have  only  to  look  into  our  own  hearts 
to  see  that  they  went  halves  in  the  work  of  creation. — What 
bitter-sweet  joys  I  found  in  this  place  where  I  played,  not 
with  fire  but  with  ashes.  I  watched  Calyste;  I  wanted  to 
know  if  every  spark  was  dead,  and  looked  out  for  every 
chance  draught  of  air,  believe  me !  I  noted  his  face  as  we 
went  from  room  to  room,  from  one  piece  of  furniture  to 
another,  exactly  like  children  seeking  some  hidden  object. 
He  seemed  thoughtful;  still,  at  first  I  fancied  I  had  con- 
quered. I  felt  brave  enough  to  speak  of  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide,  who,  since  the  adventure  of  her  fall  at  le  Croisic,  is  called 
Eocheperfide.  Finally,  we  went  to  look  at  the  famous  box- 
shrub  on  which  Beatrix  was  caught  when  Calyste  pushed  her 
into  the  sea  that  she  might  never  belong  to  any  man. 

"  'She  must  be  very  light  to  have  rested  there !'  said  I, 
laughing. 

"Calyste  said  nothing.     'Peace  to  the  dead/  I  added. 

"Still  he  was  silent.     'Have  I  vexed  you  ?'  I  asked. 

"  'ISTo.    But  do  not  galvanize  that  passion/  he  replied. 

"What  a  speech ! — Calyste,  seeing  it  had  saddened  me,  was 
doubly  kind  and  tender  to  me. 


242  BEATRIX 

"August. 

"Alas !  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  pit  and  amusing  my- 
self, like  the  innocents  in  a  melodrama,  with  plucking  the 
flowers.  Suddenly  a  horrible  idea  came  galloping  across  my 
happiness  like  the  horse  in  the  German  ballad.  I  fancied 
I  could  discern  that  Calyste's  love  was  fed  by  his  remi- 
niscences, that  he  was  wreaking  on  me  the  storms  I  could  re- 
vive in  him,  by  reminding  him  of  that  horrible  coquette  Bea- 
trix.— That  unwholesome,  cold,  limp,  tenacious  nature — akin 
to  the  mollusk  and  the  coral  insect — dares  to  be  called  Bea- 
trix! 

"So  already,  dear  mother,  I  am  forced  to  have  an  eye  on  a 
suspicion  when  my  heart  is  wholly  Calyste's,  and  is  it  not 
a  terrible  misfortune  that  the  eye  should  get  the  better  of 
the  heart ;  that  the  suspicion,  in  short,  has  been  justified  ? — 
And  in  this  way : 

"  'I  love  this  place/  I  said  to  Calyste  one  morning,  'for  I 
owe  my  happiness  to  it — so  I  forgive  you  for  sometimes  mis- 
taking me  for  another  woman ' 

"My  loyal  Breton  colored,  and  I  threw  my  arms  round  his 
neck;  but  I  came  away  from  les  Touches,  and  shall  never 
go  back  there. 

"The  depth  of  my  hatred,  which  makes  me  long  for  the 
death  of  Madame  de  Eochefide — oh  dear,  a  natural  death,  of 
course,  from  a  cold  or  some  accident — revealed  to  me  the  ex- 
tent and  vehemence  of  my  love  for  Calyste.  This  woman 
has  haunted  my  slumbers;  I  have  seen  her  in  my  dreams. — • 
Am  I  fated  to  meet  her  ? — Yes,  the  novice  in  the  Convent  was 
right;  les  Touches  is  a  fatal  spot.  Calyste  renev/ed  his  im- 
pressions there,  and  they  are  stronger  than  the  pleasures  of 
our  love. 

"Find  out,  my  dear  mother,  whether  Madame  de  Eochefide 
is  in  Paris ;  for  if  so,  I  shall  remain  on  our  estates  in  Brittany. 
Poor  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  is  now  sorry  that  she 
dressed  me  like  Beatrix  on  the  day  when  our  marriage  con- 
tract was  signed,  to  carry  out  her  scheme — if  she  could  now 
know  how  completely  I  am  a  substitute  for  our  odious  rival ! 


BEATRIX  243 

What  would  she  say !  Why,  it  is  prostitution !  I  am  no 
longer  myself!  I  am  put  to  shame. — I  am  suffering  from  a 
mad  desire  to  flee  from  Guerande  and  the  sands  of  le  Croisic. 

"August  25. 

"I  am  quite  resolved  to  return  to  the  ruins  of  le  Guenic. 
Calyste,  uneasy  at  seeing  me  so  uneasy,  is  taking  me  thither. 
Either  he  does  not  know  much  of  the  world,  or  he  guesses 
nothing;  or,  if  he  knows  the  reason  of  my  flight,  he  does  not 
love  me.  I  am  so  afraid  of  discovering  the  hideous  certainty 
if  I  seek  it,  that,  like  the  children,  I  cover  my  eyes  with  my 
hands  not  to  hear  the  explosion.  Oh,  mother !  I  am  not  loved 
with  such  love  as  I  feel  in  my  own  heart.  Calyste,  to  be 
sure,  is  charming;  hut  what  man  short  of  a  monster  would 
not  be,  like  Calyste,  amiable  and  gracious,  when  he  is  given 
all  the  opening  blossoms  of  the  soul  of  a  girl  of  twenty, 
brought  up  by  you,  pure  as  I  am,  and  loving,  and — as  many 
women  have  told  you — very  pretty " 

"LE  GUENIC,  September  18th. 

"Has  he  forgotten  her?  This  is  the  one  thought  which 
echoes  like  remorse  in  my  soul.  Dear  mother,  has  every  wife, 
like  me,  some  such  memory  to  contend  with?  Pure  girls 
ought  to  marry  none  but  innocent  youths !  And  yet,  that  is 
an  illusory  Utopia;  and  it  is  better  to  have  a  rival  in  the 
past  than  in  the  future.  Pity  me,  mamma,  though  at  this 
moment  I  am  happy;  happy  as  a  woman  is  who  fears  to  lose 
her  happiness  and  clings  to  it ! — a  way  of  killing  it  sometimes, 
says  wise  Clotilde.. 

"I  perceive  that  for  the  last  five  months  I  have  thought 
only  of  myself;  that  is,  of  Calyste.  Tell  my  sister  Clotilde 
that  the  dicta  of  her  melancholy  wisdom  recur  to  me  some- 
times. She  is  happy  in  being  faithful  to  the  dead;  she  need 
fear  no  rival. 

"A  kiss  to  my  dear  Athena'is ;  I  see  that  Juste  is  madly  in 
love  with  her.  From  what  you  say  in  your  last  letter,  all  he 
fears  is  that  he  may  not  win  her.  Cultivate  that  fear  as  a 


244  BEATRIX 

precious  flower.  Athena'is  will  be  mistress;  I,  who  dreaded 
lest  I  should  not  win  Calyste  from  himself,  shall  be  the  hand- 
maid. A  thousand  loves,  dearest  mother.  Indeed,  if  my 
fears  should  not  prove  vain,  I  shall  have  paid  very  dear  for 
Camille  Maupin's  fortune.  Affectionate  respects  to  my 
father." 

These  letters  fully  explain  the  secret  attitude  of  this  hus- 
band and  wife.  Where  Sabine  saw  a  love-match,  Calyste  saw 
a  mariage  de  convenance.  And  the  joys  of  the  honeymoon 
had  not  altogether  fulfilled  the  requirements  of  the  law  as  to 
community  of  goods.. 

During  their  stay  in  Brittany  the  work  of  restoring,  ar- 
ranging, and  decorating  the  Hotel  du  Guenic  in  Paris  had 
been  carried  on  by  the  famous  architect  Grindot,  under  the 
eye  of  Clotilde  and  the  Duchesse  and  Due  de  Grandlieu. 
Every  step  was  taken  to  enable  the  young  couple  to  return  to 
Paris  in  December  1838 ;  and  Sabine  was  glad  to  settle  in  the 
Eue  de  Bourbon,  less  for  the  pleasure  of  being  mistress  of 
the  house  than  to  discover  what  her  family  thought  of  her 
married  life.  Calyste,  handsome  and  indifferent,  readily  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  guided  in  matters  of  fashion  by  Clotilde 
and  his  mother-in-law,  who  were  gratified  by  his  docility. 
He  filled  the  place  in  the  world  to  which  his  name,  his  for- 
tune, and  his  connection  entitled  him.  His  wife's  success, 
regarded  as  she  was  as  one  of  the  most  charming  women  of 
the  year,  the  amusements  of  the  best  society,  duties  to  be  done, 
and  the  dissipations  of  a  Paris  season,  somewhat  recruited  the 
happiness  of  the  young  couple  by  supplying  excitement  and 
interludes.  The  Duchess  and  Clotilde  believed  in  Sabine's 
happiness,  ascribing  Calyste's  cold  manners  to  his  English 
blood,  and  the  young  wife  got  over  her  gloomy  notions;  she 
heard  herself  envied  by  so  many  less  happy  wives,  that  she 
banished  her  terrors  to  the  limbo  of  bad  dreams.  Finally, 
Sabine's  prospect  of  motherhood  was  the  crowning  guarantee 
for  the  future  of  this  neutral-tinted  union,  a  good  augury 
which  women  of  experience  rely  on. 


BEATRIX  245 

In  October  1839  the  young  Baronne  dn  Guenic  had  a  son, 
and  was  so  foolish  as  to  nurse  him  herself,  like  .almost  every 
woman  under  similar  circumstances.  How  can  she  help  be- 
ing wholly  a  mother  when  her  child  is  the  child  of  a  husband 
so  truly  idolized  ?  Thus  by  the  end  of  the  following  summer 
Sabine  was  preparing  to  wean  her  first  child. 

In  the  course  of  a  two  years'  residence  in  Paris,  Calyste 
had  entirely  shed  the  innocence  which  had  cast  the  light  of 
its  prestige  on  his  first  experience  in  the  world  of  passion. 
Calyste,  as  the  comrade  of  the  young  Due  de  Maufrigneuse — 
like  himself,  lately  married  to  an  heiress,  Bertha  de  Cinq- 
Cygne — of  the  Vicomte  Savinien  de  Portenduere,  of  the 
Due  and  Duchesse  de  Ehetore,  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de 
Lenoncourt-Chaulieu,  and  all  the  company  that  met  in  his 
mother-in-law's  drawing-room,  learnt  to  see  the  differences 
that  divide  provincial  from  Paris  life.  Wealth  has  its  dark 
hours,  its  tracts  of  idleness,  for  which  Paris,  better  than  any 
other  capital,  can  provide  amusement,  diversion,  and  interest. 
Hence,  under  the  influence  of  these  young  husbands,  who 
would  leave  the  noblest  and  most  beautiful  creatures  for  the 
delights  of  the  cigar  or  of  whist,  for  the  sublime  conversation 
at  a  club  or  the  absorbing  interests  of  the  turf,  many  of 
the  domestic  virtues  were  undermined  in  the  young  Breton 
husband.  The  maternal  instinct  in  a  woman  who  cannot  en- 
dure to  bore  her  husband  is  always  ready  to  support  young 
married  men  in  their  dissipations.  A  woman  is  so  proud 
of  seeing  the  man  she  leaves  perfectly  free  come  back  to  her 
side. 

One  evening,  in  October  this  year,  to  escape  the  cries  of  a 
weaned  child,  Calyste — on  whose  brow  Sabine  could  not  bear 
to  see  a  cloud — was  advised  by  her  to  go  to  the  Theatre  des 
Varietes,  where  a  new  piece  was  being  acted.  The  servant- 
sent  to  secure  a  stall  had  taken  one  quite  near  to  the  stage- 
boxes.  Between  the  first  and  second  acts,  Calyste,  looking 
about  him,  saw  in  one  of  these  boxes  on  the  ground  tier,  not 
four  yards  away,  Madame  de  Eochefide. 

Beatrix  in  Paris!       Beatrix  in  public!       The  two  ideas 


246  BEATRIX 

pierced  Calyste's  brain  like  two  arrows.  He  could  see  her 
again  after  nearly  three  years  ! — Who  can  describe  the  commo- 
tion in  the  soul  of  this  lover  who,  far  from  forgetting,  had 
sometimes  so  completely  identified  Beatrix  with  his  wife  that 
Sabine  had  been  conscious  of  it?  Who  can  understand  how 
this  poem  of  a  lost  and  misprized  love,  ever  living  in  the  heart 
of  Sabine's  husband,  overshadowed  the  young  wife's  dutiful 
charms  and  ineffable  tenderness?  Beatrix  became  light,  the 
day-star,  excitement,  life,  the  unknown;  while  Sabine  was 
duty,  darkness,  the  familiar !  In  that  instant  one  was  pleas- 
ure, the  other  satiety.  It  was  a  thunderbolt. 

Sabine's  husband  in  a  loyal  impulse  felt  a  noble  prompting 
to  leave  the  house.  As  he  went  out  from  the  stalls,  the 
door  of  the  box  was  open,  and  in  spite  of  himself  his  feet 
carried  him  in.  He  found  Beatrix  between  two  very  distin- 
guished men,  Canalis  and  Nathan — a  politician  and  a  literary 
celebrity.  During  nearly  three  years,  since  Calyste  had  last 
seen  Madame  de  Eochefide,  she  had  altered  very  much;  but 
though  the  metamorphosis  had  changed  the  woman's  nature, 
she  seemed  all  the  more  poetical  and  attractive  in  Calyste's 
eyes.  Up  to  the  age  of  thirty,  clothing  is  all  a  pretty  Parisian 
demands  of  dress ;  but  when  she  has  crossed  the  threshold  of 
the  thirties,  she  looks  to  finery  for  armor,  fascinations,  and 
embellishment;  she  composes  it  to  lend  her  graces;  she  finds 
a  purpose  in  it,  assumes  a  character,  makes  herself  young 
again,  studies  the  smallest  accessories, — in  short,  abandons 
nature  for  art. 

Madame  de  Rochefide  had  just  gone  through  the  changing 
scenes  of  the  drama  which,  in  this  history  of  the  manners 
of  the  French  in  the  nineteenth  century,  is  called  "The  De- 
serted Woman."  Conti  having  thrown  her  over,  she  had 
naturally  become  a  great  artist  in  dress,  in  flirtation,  and  in 
artificial  bloom  of  every  description. 

"How  is  it  that  Conti  is  not  here,"  asked  Calyste  of  Canalis 
in  a  whisper,  after  the  commonplace  greetings  which  begin 
the  most  momentous  meeting  when  it  takes  place  in  public. 

The  erewhile  poet  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  twice 


BEATRIX  247 

minister,  and  now  for  the  fourth  time  a  speaker  hoping  for 
fresh  promotion,  laid  his  finger  with  meaning  on  his  lips. 
This  explained  all. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Beatrix,  in  a  kittenish  way. 
"I  said  to  myself  as  soon  as  I  saw  you,  before  you  saw  me,  that 
you,  at  any  rate,  would  not  disown  me !  Oh,  my  Calyste,"  she 
murmured  in  his  ear,  "why  are  you  married  ? — and  to  such  a 
little  fool,  too  I" 

As  soon  as  a  woman  whispers  to  a  newcomer  in  her  box, 
and  makes  him  sit  down  by  her,  men  of  breeding  always  find 
some  excuse  for  leaving  them  together. 

"Are  you  coming,  Nathan?"  said  Canalis;  "Madame  la 
Marquise  will  excuse  me  if  I  go  to  speak  a  word  to  d'Arthez, 
whom  I  see  with  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.  I  must  talk 
about  a  combination  of  speakers  for  to-morrow's  sitting." 

This  retreat,  effected  with  good  taste,  gave  Calyste  a  chance 
of  recovering  from  the  shock  he  had  sustained;  but  he  lost 
all  his  remaining  strength  and  presence  of  mind  as  he  inhaled 
the,  to  him,  intoxicating  and  poisonous  fragrance  of  the  poem 
called  Beatrix. 

Madame  de  Eochefide,  who  had  grown  bony  and  stringy, 
whose  complexion  was  almost  ruined,  thin,  faded,  with  dark 
circles  round  her  eyes,  had  that  evening  wreathed  the  untime- 
ly ruin  with  the  most  ingenious  devices  of  Parisian  frippery. 
Like  all  deserted  women,  she  had  tried  to  give  herself  a 
virgin  grace,  and  by  the  effect  of  various  white  draperies  to 
recall  the  maidens  of  Ossian,  with  names  ending  in  a,  so  poet- 
ically represented  by  Girodet.  Her  fair  hair  fell  about  her 
long  face  in  bunches  of  curls,  reflecting  the  flare  of  the  foot- 
lights in  the  sheen  of  scented  oil.  Her  pale  forehead  shone, 
she  had  applied  an  imperceptible  touch  of  rouge  over  the  dull 
whiteness  of  her  skin,  bathed  in  bran-water,  and  its  brilliancy 
cheated  the  eye.  A  scarf,  so  fine  that  it  was  hard  to  believe 
that  man  could  have  woven  it  of  silk,  was  wound  about  her 
neck  so  as  to  diminish  its  length  by  hiding  it,  and  barely  re- 
vealing the  treasures  enticingly  displayed  by  her  stays.  The 
bodice  was  a  masterpiece  of  art.  As  to  her  attitude,  it  is 


248  BEATRIX 

enough  to  say  that  it  was  well  worth  the  pains  she  had  taken 
to  elaborate  it .  Her  arms,  lean  and  hard,  were  scarcely  visi- 
ble through  the  carefully  arranged  puffs  of  her  wide  sleeves. 
She  presented  that  mixture  of  false  glitter  and  sheeny  silk, 
of  flowing  gauze  and  frizzled  hair,  of  liveliness,  coolness,  and 
movement  which  has  been  called  je  ne  sais  quoi.  Every  one 
knows  what  is  meant  by  this  je  ne  sais  quoi.  It  is  a  com- 
pound of  cleverness,  taste,  and  temperament.  Beatrix  was,  in 
fact,  a  drama,  a  spectacle,  all  scenery,  and  transformations, 
and  marvelous  machinery. 

The  performance  of  these  fairy  pieces,  which  are  no  less 
brilliant  in  dialogue,  turns  the  head  of  a  man  blessed  with 
honesty;  for,  by  the  law  of  contrast,  he  feels  a  frenzied  de- 
sire to  play  with  the  artificial  thing.  It  is  false  and  seduc- 
tive, elaborate,  but  pleasing,  and  there  are  men  who  adore 
these  women  who  play  at  being  charming  as  one  plays  a  game 
of  cards.  This  is  the  reason — man's  desire  is  a  syllogism,  and 
argues  from  this  external  skill  to  the  secret  theorems  of  volup- 
tuous enjoyment.  The  mind  concludes,  though  not  in  words, 
"A  woman  who  can  make  herself  so  attractive  must  have  other 
resources  of  passion."  And  it  is  true.  The  women  who  are 
deserted  are  the  women  who  love ;  the  women  who  keep  their 
lovers  are  those  who  know  how  to  love.  Now,  though  this 
lesson  in,  Italian  had  been  a  hard  one  for  Beatrix's  vanity, 
her  nature  was  too  thoroughly  artificial  not  to  profit  by  it. 

"It  is  not  a  matter  of  loving  you  men,"  she  had  been  saying 
some  minutes  before  Calyste  went  in ;  "we  have  to  worry  you 
when  we  have  got  you;  that  is  the  secret  of  keeping  you. 
Dragons  who  guard  treasures  are  armed  with  talons  and 
wings !" 

"Your  idea  might  be  put  into  a  sonnet,"  Canalis  was  saying 
just  as  Calyste  entered  the  box. 

At  one  glance  Beatrix  read  Calyste's  condition;  she  saw, 
still  fresh  and  raw,  the  marks  of  the  collar  she  had  put  on 
him  at  les  Touches.  Calyste,  offended  by  her  phrase  about 
his  wife,  hesitated  between  his  dignity  as  a  husband,  defend- 
ing Sabine,  and  finding  a  sharp  word  to  cast  on  the  heart 


BEATRIX  249 

whence,  for  him,  rose  such  fragrant  reminiscences — a  heart 
he  believed  to  be  yet  bleeding.  The  Marquise  discerned  this 
hesitancy ;  she  had  spoken  thus,  solely  to  gauge  the  extent  of 
her  power  over  Calyste,  and,  seeing  him  so  weak,  she  came  to 
his  assistance  to  get  him  out  of  his  difficulty. 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  she,  when  the  two  courtiers  had 
left,  "you  see  me  alone — yes,  alone  in  the  world !" 

"And  you  never  thought  of  me?"  said  Calyste. 

"You !"  she  replied ;  "are  -not  you  married  ? — It  has  been 
one  of  my  great  griefs  among  the  many  I  have  endured  since 
we  last  met.  'Not  merely  have  I  lost  love,'  I  said  to  myself, 
'but  friendship  too,  a  friendship  I  believed  to  be  wholly  Bre- 
ton.' We  get  used  to  anything.  I  now  suffer  less,  but  I  am 
broken.  This  is  the  first  time  for  a  long  while  that  I  have 
unburdened  my  heart.  Compelled  to  be  reserved  in  the 
presence  of  indifferent  persons,  and  as  arrogant  to  those 
who  court  me  as  though  I  had  never  fallen,  and  having  lost 
my  dear  Felicite,  I  have  no  ear  into  which  to  breathe  the 
words,  'I  am  wretched !'  And  even  now,  can  I  tell  you  what 
my  anguish  was  when  I  saw  you  a  few  yards  away  from  me, 
not  recognizing  me;  or  what  my  joy  is  at  seeing  you  close 
to  me. — Yes,"  said  she,  at  a  movement  on  Calyste's  part,  "it 
is  almost  fidelity !  In  this  you  see  what  misfortune  means ! 
A  nothing,  a  visit,  is  everything. 

"Yes,  you  really  loved  me,  as  I  deserved  to  be  loved  by  the 
man  who  has  chosen  to  trample  on  all  the  treasures  I  cast  at 
his  feet.  And,  alas  !  to  my  woe,  I  cannot  forget ;  I  love,  and  I 
mean  to  be  true  to  the  past,  which  can  never  return." 

As  she  poured  out  this  speech,  a  hundred  times  rehearsed, 
she  used  her  eyes  in  such  a  way  as  to  double  the  effect  of 
words  which  seemed  to  surge  up  from  her  soul  with  the 
violence  of  a  long-restrained  torrent.  Calyste,  instead  of 
speaking,  let  fall  the  tears  that  had  been  gathering  in  his 
eyes.  Beatrix  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it,  making  him  turn 
pale. 

"Thank  you,  Calyste ;  thank  you,  my  poor  boy ;  that  is  the 
way  a  true  friend  should  respond  to  a  friend's  sorrow.  We 


250  BEATRIX 

understand  each  other.  There,  do  not  add  another  word ! — • 
Go  now ;  if  we  were  seen,  you  might  cause  your  wife  grief  if 
by  chance  any  one  told  her  that  we  had  met — though  inno- 
cently enough,  in  the  face  of  a  thousand  people. — Good-bye,  I 
am  brave,  you  see — "  And  she  wiped  her  eyes  by  what  should 
be  called  in  feminine  rhetoric  the  antithesis  of  action. 

"Leave  me  to  laugh  the  laugh  of  the  damned  with  the  people 
I  do  not  care  for,  but  who  amuse  me/'  she  went  on.  "I  see 
artists  and  writers,  the  circle  I  knew  at  our  poor  Camille's — 
she  was  right,  no  doubt !  Enrich  the  man  you  love,  and  then 
disappear,  saying,  'I  am  too  old  for  him !'  It  is  to  die  a 
martyr.  And  that  is  best  when  one  cannot  die  a  virgin." 

She  laughed,  as  if  to  efface  the  melancholy  impression  she 
might  have  made  on  her  adorer. 

"But  where  can  I  call  on  you?"  asked  Calyste. 

"I  have  hidden  myself  in  the  Rue  de  Courcelles,  close  to 
the  Pare  Monceaux,  in  a  tiny  house  suited  to  my  fortune,  and 
I  cram  my  brain  with  literature — but  for  my  own  satisfac- 
tion only,  to  amuse  myself.  Heaven  preserve  me  from  the 
mania  of  writing ! — Go,  leave  me ;  I  do  not  want  to  be  talked 
about,  and  what  will  not  people  say  if  they  see  us  together? 
And  besides,  Calyste,  I  tell  you,  if  you  stay  a  minute  longer 
I  shall  cry,  for  I  can't  help  it." 

Calyste  withdrew,  after  giving  his  hand  to  Beatrix,  and 
feeling  a  second  time  the  deep  strange  sensation  of  a  pressure 
on  both  sides  full  of  suggestive  incitement. 

"My  God !  Sabine  never  stirred  my  heart  like  this,"  was 
the  thought  that  assailed  him  in  the  corridor. 

Throughout  the  rest  of  the  evening  the  Marquise  de  Roche- 
fide  did  not  look  three  times  straight  at  Calyste ;  but  she  sent 
him  side  glances  which  rent  the  soul  of  the  man  who  had 
given  himself  up  wholly  to  his  first  and  rejected  love. 

When  the  Baron  du  Guenic  was  at  home  again,  the  mag- 
nificence of  his  rooms  reminded  him  of  the  sort  of  mediocrity 
to  which  Beatrix  had  alluded,  and  he  felt  a  hatred  for  the 
fortune  that  did  not  belong  to  that  fallen  angel.  On  hear- 
ing that  Sabine  had  been  in  bed  some  time,  he  was  happy  in 
having  a  night  to  himself  to  live  in  his  emotions. 


BEATRIX  2ol 

He  now  cursed  the  perspicacity  given  to  Sabine  by  her  af- 
fection. When  it  happens  that  a  man  is  adored  by  his  wife, 
she  can  read  his  face  like  a  book,  she  knows  the  slightest 
quiver  of  his  muscles,  she  divines  the  reason  when  he  is  calm, 
she  questions  herself  when  he  is  in  the  least  sad,  wondering 
if  she  is  in  fault,  she  watches  his  eyes ;  to  her  those  eyes  are 
colored  by  his  ruling  thought — they  love  or  they  love  not. 
Calyste  knew  himself  to  be  the  object  of  a  worship  so  complete, 
so  artless,  so  jealous,  that  he  doubted  whether  he  could  assume 
a  countenance  that  would  preserve  the  secret  of  the  change 
that  had  come  over  him. 

"What  shall  I  do  to-morrow  morning?"  said  he  to  himself 
as  he  fell  asleep,  fearing  Sabine's  scrutiny. 

For  when  they  first  met,  or  even  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
Sabine  would  ask  him,  "Do  you  love  me  as  much  as  ever?" 
or,  "I  don't  bore  you  ?"  Gracious  questionings,  varying  accord- 
ing to  the  wife's  wit  or  mood,  and  covering  real  or  imaginary 
terrors. 

A  storm  will  stir  up  mud  and  bring  it  to  the  top  of  the 
noblest  and  purest  hearts.  And  so,  next  morning,  Calyste, 
who  was  genuinely  fond  of  his  child,  felt  a  thrill  of  joy  at 
hearing  that  Sabine  was  anxious  as  to  the  cause  of  some 
symptoms,  and,  fearing  croup,  could  not  leave  the  infant 
Calyste.  The  Baron  excused  himself  on  the  score  of  business 
from  breakfasting  at  home,  and  went  out.  He  fled  as  a 
prisoner  escapes,  happy  in  the  mere  act  of  walking,  in  going 
across  the  Pont  Louis  XVI.  and  the  Champs-Elysees  to  a  cafe 
on  the  boulevard,  where  he  breakfasted  alone. 

What  is  there  in  love?  Does  Nature  turn  restive  under 
the  social  yoke?  Does  Nature  insist  that  the  spring  of  a 
devoted  life  shall  be  spontaneous  and  free,  its  flow  that  of  a 
wild  torrent  tossed  by  the  rocks  of  contradiction  and  caprice, 
instead  of  a  tranquil  stream  trickling  between  two  banks — the 
mairie  on  one  side,  and  the  church  on  the  other?  Has  she 
schemes  of  her  own  when  she  is  hatching  those  volcanic  erup- 
tions to  which  perhaps  we  owe  our  great  men? 


252  BEATRIX 

It  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  n  young  man  more 
piously  brought  up  than  Calyste,  of  purer  life,  or  less  tainted 
by  infidelity ;  and  he  was  rushing  towards  a  woman  quite  un- 
worthy of  him,  when  a  merciful  and  glorious  chance  brought 
to  him,  in  Sabine,  a  gii-1  of  really  aristocratic  beauty,  with  a 
refined  and  delicate  mind,  pious,  loving,  and  wholly  attached 
to  him;  her  angelic  sweetness  still  touched  with  the  pathos 
of  love,  passionate  love  in  spite  of  marriage — such  love  a& 
his  for  Beatrix. 

The  greatest  men  perhaps  have  still  some  clay  in  then 
composition ;  tht  mire  still  has  charms.  So,  in  spite  of  f oll^ 
and  frailty,  the  woman  would  then  be  the  less  imperfect  crea- 
ture. Madame  de  Rochefide  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  of 
artistic  pretenders  who  surrounded  her,  and  in  spite  of  her 
fall,  belonged  to  the  highest  nobility  all  the  same ;  her  nature 
was  ethereal  rather  than  earth-born,  and  she  hid  the  courtesan 
shi?  meant  to  be  under  the  most  aristocratic  exterior.  So 
this  explanation  cannot  account  for  Calyste's  strange  pas- 
sion. 

The  reason  may  perhaps  be  found  in  a  vanity  so  deeply 
buried  that  moralists  have  not  yet  discerned  that  side  of  vice. 
There  are  men,  truly  noble  as  Calyste  was,  and  as  handsome, 
rich,  elegant,  and  well  bred,  who  weary — unconsciously  per- 
haps— of  wedded  life  with  a  nature  like  their  own;  beings 
whose  loftiness  is  not  amazed  by  loftiness,  who  are  left  cold  by 
a  dignity  and  refinement  on  a  constant  level  with  their  own, 
but  who  crave  to  find  in  inferior  or  fallen  natures  a  corrobora- 
tion  of  their  own  superiority  though  they  would  not  ask  their 
praises.  The  contrast  of  moral  degradation  and  magnanim- 
ity fascinates  their  sight.  What  is  pure  shines  so  vividly  by 
the  side  of  what  is  impure!  This  comparison  is  pleasing. 
Calyste  found  nothing  in  Sabine  to  protect;  she  was  irre- 
proachable; all  the  wasted  energies  of  his  heart  went  forth 
to  Beatrix.  And  if  we  have  seen  great  men  playing  the  part 
of  Jesus,  raising  up  the  woman  taken  in  adultery,  how  should 
commonplace  folks  be  any  wiser? 

Calyste  lived  till  two  o'clock  on  the  thought,  "I  shall  see  her 


BEATRIX  253 

again !" — a  poem  which  ere  now  has  proved  sustaining  during 
a  journey  of  seven  hundred  leagues.  Then  he  went  with  a 
light  step  to  the  Hue  de  Courcelles;  he  recognized  the  house 
though  he  had  never  seen  it ;  and  he,  the  Due  de  Grandlieu's 
son-in-law,  he,  as  rich,  as  noble  as  the  Bourbons,  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  stopped  by  the  question  from  an  old  butler, 
"Your  name,  if  you  please,  sir  ?" 

Calyste  understood  that  he  must  leave  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide  free  to  act,  and  he  looked  out  on  the  garden  and  the 
walls  streaked  with  black  and  yellow  lines  left  by  the  rain  on 
the  stucco  of  Paris. 

Madame  de  Eochefide,  like  most  fine  ladies  when  they  break 
their  chain,  had  fled,  leaving  her  fortune  in  her  husband's 
hands,  and  she  would  not  appeal  for  help  to  her  tyrant.  Conti 
and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  spared  Beatrix  all  the 
cares  of  material  life,  and  her  mother  from  time  to  time  sent 
her  a  sum  of  money.  Now  that  she  was  alone,  she  was  re- 
duced to  economy  of  a  rather  severe  kind  to  a  woman  used  to 
luxury.  So  she  had  taken  herself  to  the  top  of  the  hill  on 
which  lies  the  Pare  Monceaux,  sheltering  herself  in  a  little 
old  house  of  some  departed  magnate,  facing  the  street,  but 
with  a  charming  little  garden  behind  it,  at  a  rent  of  not  more 
than  eighteen  hundred  francs.  And  still,  with  an  old  man- 
servant, a  maid  and  a  cook  from  Alengon,  who  had  clung  to 
her  in  her  reverses,  her  poverty  would  have  seemed  opulence  to 
many  an  ambitious  middle-class  housewife. 

Calyste  went  up  a  flight  of  well-whitened  stone  stairs,  the 
landings  gay  with  flowers.  •  On  the  first  floor  the  old  butler 
showed  Calyste  into  the  rooms  through  a  double  door  of  red 
velvet  paneled  with  red  silk  and  gilt  nails.  The  rooms  he 
went  through  were  also  hung  with  red  silk  and  velvet.  Dark- 
toned  carpets,  hangings  across  the  windows  and  doors,  the 
whole  interior  was  in  contrast  with  the  outside,  which  the 
owner  was  at  no  pains  to  keep  up. 

Calyste  stood  waiting  for  Beatrix  in  a  drawing-room,  quiet 
in  style,  where  luxury  affected  simplicity.  It  was  hung  with 
bright  crimson  velvet  set  off  by  cording  of  dull  yellow  silk; 


254  BEATRIX 

the  carpet  was  a  darker  red,  the  windows  looked  like  conserva- 
tories, they  were  so  crowded  with  flowers,  and  there  was  so 
little  daylight,  that  he  could  scarcely  see  two  vases  of  fine  old 
red  porcelain,  and  between  them  a  silver  cup  attributed  to 
Benvenuto  Cellini,  and  brought  from  Italy  by  Beatrix.  The 
furniture  of  gilt  wood  upholstered  with  velvet,  the  handsome 
consoles,  on  one  of  which  stood  a  curious  clock,  the  table  cov- 
ered with  a  Persian  cloth,  all  bore  witness  to  past  wealth,  of 
which  the  remains  were  carefully  arranged.  On  a  small  table 
Calyste  saw  some  trinkets,  and  a  book  half  read,  in  which 
the  place  was  marked  by  a  dagger — symbolical  of  criticism — 
its  handle  sparkling  with  jewels.  On  the  walls  ten  water- 
color  drawings,  handsomely  framed,  all  representing  bedrooms 
in  various  houses  where  Beatrix  had  lived  in  the  course  of  her 
wandering  life,  gave  an  idea  of  her  supreme  impertinence. 

The  rustle  of  a  silk  dress  announced  the  unfortunate  lady, 
who  appeared  in  a  studied  toilet,  which,  if  Calyste  had  been 
an  older  hand,  would  certainly  have  shown  him  that  he  was 
expected.  The  dress,  made  like  a  dressing-gown  to  show  a 
triangle  of  the  white  throat,  was  of  pearl-gray  watered  silk 
with  open  hanging  sleeves,  showing  the  arms  covered  with  an 
under  sleeve  made  with  puffs  divided  by  straps,  and  with  lace 
ruffles.  Her  fine  hair,  loosely  fastened  with  a  comb,  escaped 
from  under  a  cap  of  lace  and  flowers. 

"So  soon  ?"  said  she  with  a  smile.  "A  lover  would  not  have 
been  so  eager.  So  you  have  some  secrets  to  tell  me,  I  sup- 
pose?" And  she  seated  herself  on  a  sofa,  signing  to  Calyste 
to  take  a  place  by  her. 

By  some  chance — not  perhaps  unintentional,  for  women 
have  -two  kinds  of  memory,  that  of  the  angels  and  that  of 
the  devils — Beatrix  carried  about  her  the  same  perfume  that 
she  had  used  at  les  Touches  when  she  had  first  met  Calyste. 
The  breath  of  this  scent,  the  touch  of  that  dress,  the  look 
of  those  eyes,  which  in  the  twilight  seemed  to  focus  and  reflect 
light,  all  went  to  Calyste's  brain.  The  unhappy  fellow  felt 
the  same  surge  of  violence  as  had  already  so  nearly  killed 
Beatrix ;  but  now  the  Marquise  was  on  the  edge  of  a  divan,  not 


BEATRIX  25.* 

of  the  ocean;  she  rose  to  ring  the  bell,  putting  her  finger  to 
her  lips.  At  this  Calyste,  called  to  order,  controlled  himself ; 
he  understood  that  Beatrix  had  no  hostile  intentions. 

"Antoine,  I  am  not  at  home/'  she  said  to  the  old  servant. 
"Put  some  wood  on  the  fire. — You  see,  Calyste,  I  treat  you  as 
a  friend/'  she  added  with  dignity  when  the  old  man  was  gone. 
"Do  not  treat  me  as  your  mistress. — I  have  two  remarks  to 
make.  First,  that  I  should  not  make  any  foolish  stipulations 
with  a  man  I  loved;  next,  that  I  will  never  belong  again  to 
any  man  in  the  world.  For  I  believed  myself  loved,  Calyste, 
by  a  sort  of  Rizzio  whom  no  pledges  could  bind,  a  man  abso- 
lutely free,  and  you  see  whither  that  fatal  infatuation  has 
brought  me. — As  for  you,  you  are  tied  to  the  most  sacred 
duties;  you  have  a  young,  amiable,  delightful  wife;  and  you 
are  a  father.  I  should  be  as  inexcusable  as  you  are,  and  we 
should  both  be  mad " 

"My  dear  Beatrix,  all  your  logic  falls  before  one  word.  1 
have  never  loved  any  one  on  earth  but  you,  and  I  married  in 
spite  of  myself." 

"A  little  trick  played  us  by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches/' 
said  she  with  a  smile. 

For  three  hours  Madame  de  Rochefide  kept  Calyste  faithful 
to  his  conjugal  duties  by  pressing  on  him  the  horrible  ulti- 
matum of  a  complete  breach  with  Sabine.  Nothing  less,  she 
declared,  could  reassure  her  in  the  dreadful  position  in  which 
she  would  be  placed  by  Calyste's  passion.  And,  indeed,  she 
thought  little  of  sacrificing  Sabine ;  she  knew  her  so  well. 

"Why,  my  dear  boy,  she  is  a  woman  who  fulfils  all  the  prom- 
ise of  her  girlhood.  She  is  a  thorough  Grandlieu,  as  brown  as 
her  Portuguese  mother,  not  to  say  orange-colored,  and  as  dry 
as  her  father.  To  speak  the  truth,  your  wife  will  never  be  lost 
to  you;  she  is  just  a  great  boy,  and  can  walk  alone.  Poor 
Calyste !  is  this  the  wife  to  suit  you  ?  She  has  fine  eyes,  but 
such  eyes  are  common  in  Italy,  Spain,  and  Portugal.  Can  a 
woman  so  lean  be  really  tender?  Eve  was  fair;  dark  women 
are  descended  from  Adam,  fair  women  from  God,  whose  hand 
left  a  last  touch  on  Eve  when  all  creation  was  complete." 


256  BEATRIX 

At  about  six  o'clock  Calyste  in  desperation  took  up  his  hat 
to  go. 

"Yes,  go,  my  poor  friend;  do  not  let  her  have  the  disap- 
pointment of  dining  without  you." 

Calyste  stayed.  He  was  so  young,  so  easy  to  take  on  the 
wrong  side. 

"You  would  really  dare  to  dine  with  me?"  said  Beatrix, 
affecting  the  most  provoking  surprise.  "My  humble  fare  does 
not  frighten  you  away,  and  you  have  enough  independence  of 
spirit  to  crown  my  joy  by  this  little  proof  of  affection?" 

"Only  let  me  write  a  line  to  Sabine,"  said  he,  "for  she  would 
wait  for  me  till  nine  o'clock." 

"There  is  my  writing  table,"  said  Beatrix. 

She  herself  lighted  the  candles,  and  brought  one  to  the  table 
to  see  what  Calyste  would  write. 

"My  dear  Sabine." 

"My  DEAR  !  Is  your  wife  still  dear  to  you  ?"  said  she,  look- 
ing at  him  so  coldly  that  it  froze  the  marrow  in  his  bones. 
"Go,  then,  go  to  dine  with  her." 

"I  am  dining  at  an  eating-house  with  some  friends " 

"That  is  a  lie.  For  shame !  You  are  unworthy  of  her  love 
or  mine.  All  men  are  cowards  with  us.  That  will  do,  mon- 
sieur ;  go  and  dine  with  your  dear  Sabine !" 

Calyste  threw  himself  back  in  his  armchair  and  turned 
paler  than  death.  Bretons  have  a  sort  of  obstinate  courage 
which  makes  them  hold  their  own  under  difficulties.  The 
young  Baron  sat  up  again  with  his  elbow  firmly  set  on  the 
table,  his  chin  in  his  hand,  and  his  sparkling  eyes  fixed  on 
Beatrix,  who  was  relentless.  He  looked  so  fine  that  a  true 
northern  or  southern  woman  would  have  fallen  on  her  knees, 
saying,  "Take  me !"  But  in  Beatrix,  born  on  the  border  be- 
tween Normandy  and  Brittany,  of  the  race  of  Casteran,  de- 
sertion had  brought  out  the  ferocity  of  the  Frank  and  the 
malignity  of  the  Norman;  she  craved  a  tremendous  and  ter- 
rible revenge ;  she  did  not  yield  to  his  noble  impulse. 

"Dictate  what  I  am  to  write,  and  I  will  obey,"  said  the  poor 
boy.  "But  then " 


BEATRIX  257 

"Then,  yes,"  she  replied,  "for  you  will  love  me  then  as  you 
loved  me  at  Guerande. — Write,  'I  am  dining  in  town;  do  not 
wait.'r 

"And ?"  said  Calyste,  expecting  something  more. 

"Nothing. — Sign  it.  Good,"  she  said,  seizing  this  note 
with  covert  joy.  "I  will  send  it  by  a  messenger." 

"Now !"  cried  Calyste,  starting  up  like  a  happy  man. 

"1  have  preserved  my  liberty  of  action,  I  believe,"  said  she, 
looking  round,  and  pausing  half-way  between  the  table  and 
the  fireplace,  where  she  was  about  to  ring. 

"Here,  Antoine,  have  this  note  taken  to  the  address. — Mon- 
sieur will  dine  with  me." 

Calyste  went  home  about  two  in  the  morning. 

After  sitting  up  till  half-past  twelve,  Sabine  had  gone  to 
bed  tired  out.  She  slept,  though  she  had  been  cruelly  startled 
by  the  brevity  of  her  husband's  note ;  still,  she  accounted  for 
it.  True  love  in  a  woman  can  always  explain  everything  to 
the  advantage  of  the  man  she  loves. 

"Calyste  was  in  a  hurry !"  thought  she. 

Next  day  the  child  had  recovered,  the  mother's  alarms  were 
past.  Sabine  came  in  smiling,  with  little  Calyste  in  her  arms 
to  show  him  to  his  father  just  before  breakfast,  full  of  the 
pretty  nonsense,  and  saying  the  silly  things  that  all  young 
mothers  are  full  of.  This  little  domestic  scene  enabled  Calyste 
to  put  a  good  face  on  matters,  and  he  was  charming  to  his 
wife  while  feeling  that  he  was  a  wretch.  He  played  like  a 
boy  himself  with  Monsieur  le  Chevalier ;  indeed,  he  overdid  it, 
overacting  his  part ;  but  Sabine  had  'not  reached  that  pitch 
of  distrust  in  which  a  wife  notes  so  subtle  a  shade. 

At  last,  during  breakfast,  Sabine  asked : 

"And  what  were  you  doing  yesterday  ?" 

"Portenduere,"  said  he,  "kept  me  to  dinner,  and  we  went  to 
the  club  to  play  a  few  rubbers  of  whist." 

"It  is  a  foolish  life,  my  Calyste,"  replied  Sabine.  "The 
young  men  of  our  day  ought  rather  to  think  of  recovering  all 
the  estates  in  the  country  that  their  fathers  lost.  They  cannot 
live  by  smoking  cigars,  playing  whist,  and  dissipating  their 


258  BEATRIX 

idleness  by  being  content  with  making  impertinent  speeches 
to  the  parvenus  who  are  ousting  them  from  all  their  dignities, 
by  cutting  themselves  off  from  the  masses,  whose  soul  and 
brain  they  ought  to  be,  and  to  whom  they  should  appear  as 
Providence.  Instead  of  being  a  party,  you  will  only  be  an 
opinion,  as  de  Marsay  said.  Oh  !  if  you  could  only  know  how 
my  views  have  expanded  since  I  have  rocked  and  suckled  your 
child.  I  want  to  see  the  old  name  of  du  Guenic  figure  in 
history." 

Then,  suddenly  looking  straight  into  Calyste's  eyes,  which 
were  pensively  fixed  on  her,  she  said : 

"You  must  admit  that  the  first  note  you  ever  wrote  me  was 
a  little  abrupt?" 

"I  never  thought  of  writing  till  I  reached  the  club." 

"But  you  wrote  on  a  woman's  paper ;  it  had  some  womanly 
Bcent." 

"The  club  managers  do  such  queer  things " 

The  Vicomte  de  Portenduere  and  his  wife,  a  charming 
young  couple,  had  become  so  intimate  with  the  du  Guenics 
that  they  shared  a  box  at  the  Italian  opera.  The  two  young 
women,  Sabine  and  Ursule,  had  been  drawn  into  this  friend- 
ship by  a  delightful  exchange  of  advice,  anxieties,  and  con- 
fidences about  their  babies.  While  Calyste,  a  novice  in  false- 
hood, was  thinking  to  himself,  "I  must  go  to  warn  Savinien," 
Sabine  was  reflecting,  "I  fancied  that  the  paper  was  stamped 
with  a  coronet !" 

The  suspicion  flashed  like  lightning  through  her  conscious- 
ness, and  she  blamed  herself  for  it;  but  she  made  up  her  mind 
to  look  for  the  note,  which,  in  the  midst  of  her  alarms  on  the 
previous  day,  she  had  tossed  into  her  letter-box. 

After  breakfast  Calyste  went  out,  telling  his  wife  he  should 
soon  return ;  he  got  into  one  of  the  little  low  one-horse  car- 
riages which  were  just  beginning  to  take  the  place  of  the  in- 
convenient cabriolet  of  our  grandfathers.  In  a  few  min- 
utes he  reached  the  Rue  des  Saints-Peres,  where  the  Vicomte 
lived,  and  begged  him  to  do  him  the  little  kindness  of  lying  in 


BEATRIX  250 

case  Sabinc  should  question  the  Vicomtesse — he  would  do  as 
much  for  him  next  time.  Then,  when  once  out  of  the  house, 
Calyste,  having  first  bidden  the  coachman  to  hurry  as  much 
as  possible,  went  in  a  few  minutes  from  the  Rue  des  Saints- 
Peres  to  the  Rue  de  Courcelles.  He  was  anxious  to  know 
how  Beatrix  had  spent  the  rest  of  the  night. 

He  found  the  happy  victim  of  fate  just  out  of  her  bath, 
fresh,  beautified,  and  breakfasting  with  a  good  appetite.  He 
admired  the  grace  with  \vhich  his  angel  ate  boiled  eggs,  and 
was  delighted  with  the  service  of  gold,  a  present  from  a  music- 
mad  lord  for  whom  Conti  had  written  some  songs,  on  ideas 
supplied  by  his  lordship,  who  had  published  them  as  his  own. 
Calyste  listened  to  a  few  piquant  anecdotes  related  by  his  idol, 
whose  chief  aim  was  to  amuse  him,  though  she  got  angry  and 
cried  when  he  left  her.  He  fancied  he  had  been  with  her  half 
an  hour,  and  did  not  get  home  till  three  o'clock.  His  horse, 
a  fine  beast  given  him  by  the  Vicomtesse  de  Grandlieu,  looked 
as  if  it  had  come  out  of  the  river,  it  was  so  streaming  with 
sweat. 

By  such  a  chance  as  a  jealous  woman  always  plans,  Sabine 
was  on  guard  at  a  window  looking  out  into  the  courtyard,  out 
of  patience  at  Calyste's  late  return,  and  uneasy  without  know- 
ing why.  She  was  struck  by  the  condition  of  the  horse,  its 
mouth  full  of  foam. 

"Where  has  he  been?" 

The  question  was  whispered  in  her  ear  by  that  power  which 
is  not  conscience — not  the  devil,  nor  an  angel — the  power 
which  sees,  feels,  knows,  and  shows  us  the  unknown;  which 
makes  us  believe  in  the  existence  of  spiritual  beings,  creatures 
of  our  own  brain,  going  and  coming,  and  living  in  the  invis- 
ible spheres  of  ideas. 

"Where  have  you  come  from,  my  darling  ?"  said  she,  going 
down  to  the  first  landing  to  meet  Calyste.  "Abdel-Kader  is 
half  dead ;  you  said  you  would  be  out  but  a  few  minutes,  and 
I  have  been  expecting  you  these  three  hours  .  .  ." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Calyste  to  himself,  improving  ip  the 
art  of  dissimulation,  "I  must  get  out  of  the  scrape  by  a 


260  BEATRIX 

present. — Dear  little  nurse,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  round 
his  wife's  waist  with  a  more  coaxing  pressure  than  he  would 
have  given  it  if  he  had  not  felt  guilty,  "it  is  impossible,  I 
see,  to  keep  a  secret,  however  innocent,  from  a  loving 
wife  .  .  ." 

"We  don't  tell  secrets  on  the  stairs/'  she  replied,  laughing. 
"Come  along!" 

In  the  middle  of  the  drawing-room  that  led  to  the  bed- 
room, she  saw,  reflected  in  a  mirror,  Calyste's  face,  in  which, 
not  knowing  that  it  could  be  seen,  his  fatigue  and  his  real 
feeling  showed;  he  had  ceased  to  smile. 

"That  secret?"  said  she,  turning  round. 

"You  have  been  such  a  heroic  nurse  that  the  heir-presump- 
tive of  the  du  Guenics  is  dearer  to  me  than  ever;  I  wanted 
to  surprise  you — just  like  a  worthy  citizen  of  the  Eue  Saint  - 
Denis.  A  dressing-table  is  being  fitted  for  you  which  is  a 
work  of  art — my  mother  and  Aunt  Zephirine  have  helped — " 

Sabine  threw  her  arms  around  Calyste,  and  held  him  clasped 
to  her  heart,  her  head  on  his  neck,  trembling  with  the  weight 
of  happiness,  not  on  account  of  the  dressing-table,  but  because 
her  suspicions  were  blown  to  the  winds.  It  was  one  of  those 
glorious  gushes  of  joy  which  can  be  counted  in  a  lifetime,  and 
of  which  even  the  most  excessive  love  cannot  be  prodigal,  for 
life  would  be  too  quickly  burnt  out.  Men  ought,  in  such 
moments,  to  kneel  at  the  woman's  feet  in  adoration,  for  the 
impulse  is  sublime;  all  the  powers  of  the  heart  and  intellect 
overflow  as  water  gushes  from  the  urn  of  fountain-nymphs. 
Sabine  melted  into  tears. 

Suddenly,  as  if  stung  by  a  viper,  she  pushed  Calyste  from 
her,  dropped  on  to  a  divan,  and  fainted  away ;  the  sudden  chill 
on  her  glowing  heart  had  almost  killed  her.  As  she  held 
Calyste,  her  nose  in  his  necktie,  given  up  to  happiness,  she 
had  smelt  the  same  perfume  as  that  on  the  notepaper ! — 
Another  woman's  head  had  lain  there,  her  face  and  hair  had 
left  the  very  scent  of  adultery.  She  had  just  kissed  the  spot 
where  her  rival's  kisses  were  still  warm. 

is  the  matter  ?"  said  Calyste,  after  bringing  Sabine 


BEATRIX  261 

back  to  her  senses  by  bathing  her  face  with  a  wet  handker- 
chief. 

"Go  and  fetch  the  doctor,  and  the  accoucheur — both.  Yes, 
I  feel  the  milk  has  turned  to  fever.  .  .  .  They  will  not 

come  at  once  unless  you  go  yourself "  Vous.,  she  said,  not 

tu,  and  the  vous  startled  Calyste,  who  flew  off  in  alarm.  As 
soon  as  Sabine  heard  the  outer  gate  shut,  she  sprang  to  her 
feet  like  a  frightened  deer,  and  walked  round  and  round  the 
room  like  a  crazy  thing,  exclaiming,  "My  God !  my  God !  my 
God !" 

The  two  words  took  the  place  of  thought.  The  crisis  she 
had  used  as  a  pretext  really  came  on.  The  hair  on  her  head 
felt  like  so  many  eels,  made  red  hot  in  the  fire  of  nervous 
torment.  Her  heated  blood  seemed  to  her  to  have  mingled 
with  her  nerves,  and  to  be  bursting  from  every  pore.  For  a 
moment  she  was  blind.  "I  am  dying  I"  she  shrieked. 

At  this  fearful  cry  of  an  insulted  wife  and  mother,  her 
maid  came  in ;  and  when  she  had  been  carried  to  her  bed  and 
had  recovered  her  sight  and  senses,  her  first  gleam  of  intelli- 
gence made  her  send  the  woman  to  fetch  her  friend  Madame 
de  Portenduere.  Sabine  felt  her  thoughts  swirling  in  her 
brain  like  straws  in  a  whirlwind. 

"I  saw  myriads  of  them  at  once,"  she  said  afterwards. 

Then  she  rang  for  the  manservant,  and  in  the  transport  of 
fever  found  strength  enough  to  write  the  following  note,  for 
she  was  possessed  by  a  mania,  she  must  be  sure  of  the  truth : — 

To  Madame  la  Baronne  du  Guenic. 

"DEAR  MAMMA, — When  you  come  to  Paris,  as  you  have  led 
us  to  hope  you  may,  I  will  thank  you  in  person  for  the  beauti- 
ful present  by  which  you  and  Aunt  Zephirine  and  Calyste 
propose  to  thank  me  for  having  done  my  duty.  I  have  been 
amply  paid  by  my  own  happiness. — I  cannot  attempt  to  ex- 
press- my  pleasure  in  this  beautiful  dressing-table,  when  you 
are  here  I  will  try  to  tell  you.  Believe  me,  when  I  dress  before 
this  glass,  I  shall  always  think,  like  the  Koman  lady,  that  my 
choicest  jewel  is  our  darling  angel,"  and  so  on. 


262  BEATRIX 

She  had  this  letter  posted  by  her  own  maid. 

When  the  Vicomtesse  de  Portenduere  came  in,  the  shivering 
fit  of  a  violent  fever  had  succeeded  the  first  paroxysm  of  mad- 
ness. 

"Ursule,  I  believe  I  am  going  to  die/'  said  she. 

"What  ails  you,  my  dear  ?" 

"Tell  me,  what  did  Calyste  and  Savinien  do  yesterday  even- 
ing after  dinner  at  your  house  ?" 

"What  dinner  ?"  replied  Ursule,  to  whom  her  husband  had 
as  yet  said  nothing,  not  expecting  an  immediate  inquiry. 
"Savinien  and  I  dined  alone  last  evening,  and  went  to  the 
Opera  without  Calyste." 

"Ursule,  dear  child,  in  the  name  of  your  love  for  Savinien, 
I  adjure  you,  keep  the  secret  of  what  I  have  asked  you,  and 
what  I  will  tell  you.  You  alone  will  know  what  I  am  dying  of 
— I  am  betrayed,  at  the  end  of  three  years — when  I  am  not 
yet  three-and-twenty " 

Her  teeth  chattered,  her  eyes  were  lifeless  and  dull;  her 
face  had  the  greenish  hue  and  surface  of  old  Venetian  glass. 

"You — so  handsome ! — But  for  whom !" 

"I  do  not  know.  But  Calyste  has  lied  to  me — twice.  Not 
a  word!  Do  not  pity  me,  do  not  be  indignant,  affect  igno- 
rance ;  you  will  hear  who,  perhaps,  through  Savinien. — Oh ! 
yesterday's  note " 

And  shivering  in  her  shift,  she  flew  to  a  little  cabinet  and 
took  out  the  letter. 

"A  Marquise's  coronet !"  she  said,  getting  into  bed  again. 
"Find  out  whether  Madame  de  Eochefide  is  in  Paris.  Have  I 
a  heart  left  to  weep  or  groan  ? — Oh,  my  dear,  to  see  my  beliefs, 
my  poem,  my  idol,  my  virtue,  my  happiness,  all,  all  destroyed, 
crushed,  lost ! — There  is  no  God  in  Heaven  now,  no  love  on 
earth,  no  more  life  in  my  heart — nothing ! — I  do  not  feel  sure 
of  the  daylight,  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  sun. — In  short,  my  heart 
is  suffering  so  cruelly,  that  I  hardly  feel  the  horrible  pain  in 
my  breast  and  my  face.  Happily  the  child  is  weaned.  My 
milk  would  have  poisoned  him !"  And  at  this  thought,  a 
torrent  of  tears  relieved  her  eyes,  hitherto  dry. 


BEATRIX  263 

Pretty  Madame  de  Portenduere,  holding  the  fatal  note 
which  Sabine  had  smelt  at  for  certainty,  stood  speechless  at 
this  desperate  woe,  amazed  by  this  death  of  love,  and  unable 
to  say  anything  in  spite  of  the  incoherent  fragments  in  which 
Sabine  strove  to  tell  her  all.  Suddenly  Ursule  was  en- 
lightened by  one  of  those  flashes  which  come  only  to  sincere 
souls. 

"I  must  save  her!"  thought  she.  "Wait  till  I  return, 
Sabine,"  cried  she.  "I  will  know  the  truth." 

"Oh,  and  I  shall  love  you  in  my  grave !"  cried  Sabine. 

Madame  de  Portenduere  went  to  the  Duchess  de  Grandlieu, 
insisted  on  absolute  secrecy,  and  informed  her  as  to  the  state 
Sabine  was  in. 

"Madame,"  said  she,  in  conclusion,  "are  you  not  of  opinion 
that,  to  save  her  from  some  dreadful  illness,  or  perhaps  even 
madness — who  can  tell? — we  ought  to  tell  the  doctor  every- 
thing, and  invent  some  fables  about  that  abominable  Calyste, 
so  as  to  make  him  seem  innocent,  at  any  rate,  for  the  present  ?" 

"My  dear  child,"  said  the  Duchess,  who  had  felt  a  chill  at 
this  revelation,  "friendship  has  lent  you  for  the  nonce  the 
experience  of  a  woman  of  my  age.  I  know  how  Sabine  wor- 
ships her  husband ;  you  are  right,  she  may  go  mad." 

"And  she  might  lose  her  beauty,  which  would  be  worse," 
said  the  Vicomtesse. 

"Let  us  go  at  once !"  cried  the  Duchess. 

They,  happily,  were  a  few  minutes  in  advance  of  the 
famous  accoucheur  Dommanget,  the  only  one  of  the  two 
doctors  whom  Calyste  had  succeeded  in  finding. 

"Ursule  has  told  me  all,"  said  the  Duchess  to  her  daughter. 
"You  are  mistaken.  In  the  first  place,  Beatrix  is  not  in 
Paris.  As  to  what  your  husband  was  doing  yesterday,  my 
darling,  he  lost  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  does  not  know 
where  to  find  enough  to  pay  for  your  dressing-table — " 

"And  this  ?"  interrupted  Sabine,  holding  out  the  note. 

"This !"  said  the  Duchess,  laughing,  "is  Jockey  Club  paper. 
Every  one  writes  on  coroneted  paper — the  grocers  will  have 
titles  soon n 


264  BEATRIX 

The  prudent  mother  tossed  the  ill-starred  document  into  the 
fire. 

When  Calyste  and  Dommanget  arrived,  the  Duchess,  who 
had  given  her  orders,  was  informed;  she  left  Sabine  with 
Madame  de  Portenduere,  and  met  the  doctor  and  Calyste  in 
the  drawing-room. 

"Sabine's  life  is  in  danger,  monsieur,"  said  she  to  Calyste. 
"You  have  been  false  to  her  with  Madame  de  Kochefide" — 
Calyste  blushed  like  a  still  decent  girl  caught  tripping — "and 
as  you  do  not  know  how  to  deceive,"  the  Duchess  went  on,  "you 
were  so  clumsy  that  Sabine's  guessed  everything.  You  do  not 
wish  my  daughter's  death,  I  suppose? — All  this,  Monsieur 
Dommanget,  gives  you  a  clew  to  my  daughter's  illness  and  its 
cause. — As  for  you,  Calyste,  an  old  woman  like  me  can  under- 
stand your  error,  but  I  do  not  forgive  you.  Such  forgiveness 
can  only  be  purchased  by  a  life  of  happiness.  If  you  desire 
my  esteen,  first  save  my  child's  life.  Then  forget  Madame  de 
Kochefide — she  is  good  for  nothing  after  the  first  time ! — 
Learn  to  lie,  have  the  courage  and  impudence  of  a  criminal. 
I  have  lied,  God  knows  !  I,  who  shall  be  compelled  to  do  cruel 
penance  for  such  mortal  sin." 

She  explained  to  him  the  fictions  she  had  just  invented. 
The  skilful  doctor,  sitting  by  the  bed,  was  studying  the 
patient's  symptoms,  and  the  means  of  staving  off  the  mischief. 
While  he  was  prescribing  measures,  of  which  the  success  must 
depend  on  their  immediate  execution,  Calyste,  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Sabine,  trying  to  give  them  an 
expression  of  tender  anxiety. 

"Then  it  is  gambling  that  has  given  you  those  dark  marks 
round  your  eyes  ?"  she  said  in  a  feeble  voice. 

The  words  startled  the  doctor,  the  mother,  and  Ursule,  who 
looked  at  each  other;  Calyste  turned  as  red  as  a  cherry. 

"That  comes  of  suckling  your  child,"  said  Dommanget 
cleverly  but  roughly.  "Then  husbands  are  dull,  being  so 
much  separated  from  their  wives,  they  go  to  the  club  and  play 
high.  But  do  not  lament  over  the  thirty  thousand  francs 
that  Monsieur  le  Baron  lost  last  night — 


BEATRIX  265 

"Thirty  thousand  francs !"  said  Ursule  like  a  simpleton. 

"Yes,  I  know  it  for  certain/'  replied  Dommanget.  "I 
heard  this  morning  at  the  house  of  the  Duchesse  Berthe  de 
Maufrigneuse  that  you  lost  the  money  to  Monsieur  de 
Trailles/'  he  added  to  Calyste.  "How  can  you  play  with 
such  a  man?  Honestly,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  I  understand 
your  being  ashamed  of  yourself." 

Calyste,  a  kind  and  generous  soul,  when  he  saw  his  mother- 
in-law — the  pious  Duchess,  the  young  Viscountess — a  happy 
wife,  and  a  selfish  old  doctor  all  lying  like  curiosity  dealers, 
understood  the  greatness  of  the  danger;  he  shed  two  large 
tears,  which  deceived  Sabine. 

"Monsieur,"  said  she,  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  looking  wrath- 
fully  at  Dommanget,  "Monsieur  du  Guenic  may  lose  thirty, 
fifty,  a  hundred  thousand  francs  if  he  chooses  without  giving 
any  one  a  right  to  find  fault  with  him  or  lecture  him.  It  is 
better  that  Monsieur  de  Trailles  should  have  won  the  money 
from  him  than  that  we,  we,  should  have  won  from  Monsieur  de 
Trailles !" 

Calyste  rose  and  put  his  arm  round  his  wife's  neck. 
Kissing  her  on  both  cheeks,  he  said  in  her  ear,  "Sabine,  you 
are  an  angel !" 

Two  days  later  the  young  Baroness  was  considered  out  of 
danger.  On  the  following  day  Calyste  went  to  Madame  de 
Kochefide.  and  making  a  virtue  of  his  infamy — 

"Beatrix,"  said  he,  "you  owe  me  much  happiness.  I 
sacrificed  my  poor  wife  to  you,  and  she  discovered  everything. 
The  fatal  notepaper  on  which  you  made  me  write,  with  your 
initial  and  coronet  on  it,  which  I  did  not  happen  to  see — I 
saw  nothing  but  you !  The  letter  B,  happily,  was  worn  away ; 
but  the  scent  you  left  clinging  to  me,  the  lies  in  which  I  en- 
tangled myself  like  a  fool,  have  ruined  my  happiness.  Sabine 
has  been  at  death's  door;  the  milk  went  to  her  brain,  she 
has  erysipelas,  and  will  perhaps  be  disfigured  for  life.  .  .  ." 

Beatrix,  while  listening  to  this  harangue,  had  a  face  of 


266  BEATRIX 

Arctic  coldness,  enough  to  freeze  the  Seine  if  she  had  looked 
at  it. 

"Well,  so  much  the  better;  it  may  bleach  her  a  little,  per- 
haps." And  Beatrix,  as  dry  as  her  own  bones,  as  variable  as 
her  complexion,  as  sharp  as  her  voice,  went  on  in  this  tone,  a 
tirade  of  cruel  epigrams. 

There  can  be  no  greater  blunder  than  for  a  husband  to  talk 
to  his  mistress  of  his  wife,  if  she  is  virtuous,  unless  it  be  to 
talk  to  his  wife  of  his  mistress  if  she  is  handsome.  But 
Calyste  had  not  yet  had  the  sort  of  Parisian  education  which 
may  be  called  the  good  manners  of  the  passions.  He  could 
neither  tell  his  wife  a  lie  nor  tell  his  mistress  the  truth — an 
indispensable  training  to  enable  a  man  to  manage  women.  So 
he  was  obliged  to  appeal  to  all  the  powers  of  passion  for  two 
long  hours,  to  wring  from  Beatrix  the  forgiveness  he  begged, 
denied  him  by  an  angel  who  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven  not  to 
see  the  culprit,  and  who  uttered  the  reasons  peculiar  to 
Marquises  in  a  voice  choked  with  well-feigned  tears,  that  she 
furtively  wiped  away  with  the  lace  edge  of  her  handker- 
chief. 

''You  can  talk  to  me  of  your  wife  the  very  day  after  I  have 
yielded ! — Why  not  say  at  once  that  she  is  a  pearl  of  .virtue  ? 
I  know,  she  admires  your  beauty !  That  is  what  I  call  de- 
pravity !  I — I  love  your  soul !  For  I  assure  you,  my  dear 
b°y>  you  are  hideous  compared  with  some  shepherds  of  the 
Roman  Campagna ,"  etc.,  etc. 

This  tone  may  seem  strange,  but  it  was  a  part  of  a  system 
deliberately  planned  by  Beatrix.  In  her  third  incarnation — for 
a  woman  completely  changes  with  each  fresh  passion — she  is 
far  advanced  in  fraud — that  is  the  only  word  that  can  describe 
the  result  of  the  experience  gained  in  such  adventures.  The 
Marquise  de  Eochefide  had  sat  in  judgment  on  herself  in  front 
of  her  mirror.  Clever  women  have  no  delusions  about  them- 
selves; they  count  their  wrinkles;  they  watch  the  beginnings 
of  crows'-feet ;  they  note  the  appearance  of  every  speck  in  their 
skin;  they  know  themselves -by  heart,  and  show  it  too  plainly 
by  the  immense  pains  they  take  to  preserve  their  beauty.  And 


BEATRIX  267 

so,  ro  contend  against  a  beautiful  young  wife,  to  triumph  over 
her  six  days  a  week,  Beatrix  sought  to  win  by  the  weapons 
of  the  courtesan.  Without  confessing  to  herself  the  baseness 
of  her  conduct,  and  carried  away  to  use  such  means  by  a  Turk- 
like  passion  for  the  handsome  young  man,  she  resolved  to 
make  him  believe  that  he  was  clumsy,  ugly,  ill  made,  and  to 
behave  as  if  she  hated  him. 

There  is  no  more  successful  method  with  men  of  a 
domineering  nature.  To  them  the  conquest  of  such  disdain 
is  the  triumph  of  the  first  day  renewed  on  every  morrow.  It 
is  more ;  it  is  flattery  hidden  under  the  mask  of  aversion,  and 
owing  to  it  the  charm  and  truth  which  underlie  all  the 
metamorphoses  invented  by  the  great  nameless  poets.  Does 
not  a  man  then  say  to  himself,  "I  am  irresistible  !"  or  "I  must 
love  her  well,  since  I  conquer  her  repugnance  V  If  you  deny 
this  principle,  which  flirts  and  courtesans  of  every  social  grade 
discovered  long  ago,  you  must  discredit  the  pursuers  of 
science,  the  inquirers  into  secrets,  who  have  long  been  repulsed 
in  their  duel  with  hidden  causes. 

Beatrix  seconded  her  use  of  contempt  as  a  moral  incite- 
ment by  a  constant  comparison  between  her  comfortable 
poetic  home  and  the  Hotel  du  Guenic.  Every  deserted  wife 
neglects  her  home  out  of  deep  discouragement.  Foreseeing 
this,  Madame  de  Rochefide  began  covert  innuendoes  as  to 
the  luxury  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  which  she 
stigmatized  as  absurd.  The  reconciliation  scene,  when  Beatrix 
made  Calyste  swear  to  hate  the  wife  who,  as  she  said,  was 
playing  the  farce  of  spilt  milk,  took  place  in  a  perfect  bower, 
where  she  put  herself  into  attitudes  in  the  midst  of  beautiful 
flowers  and  jardinieres  of  lavish  costliness.  She  carried  the 
art  of  trifles,  of  fashionable  toys,  to  an  extreme.  Beatrix, 
sunk  into  contempt  since  Conti's  desertion,  was  bent  on  gain- 
ing such  fame  as  may  be  had  by  sheer  perversity.  The  woes 
of  a  young  wife,  a  Grandlieu,  rich  and  lovely,  were  to  build 
her  a  pedestal. 

When  a  woman  reappears  in  society  after  nursing  her  first 
child,  she  comes  out  again  improved  in  charm  and  beauty. 


268  BEATRIX 

If  this  phase  of  maternity  can  rejuvenate  even  women  no 
longer  in  their  first  youth,  it  gives  young  wives  a  splendid 
freshness,  a  cheerful  activity,  a  brio  of  life — if  we  may  apply 
to  the  body  a  word  which  the  Italians  have  invented  for  the 
mind.  But  while  trying  to  resume  the  pleasant  habits  of  the 
honeymoon,  Sabine  did  not  find  the  same  Calyste.  The  un- 
happy girl  watched  him  instead  of  abandoning  herself  to 
happiness.  She  expected  the  fatal  perfume,  and  she  smelt 
it;  and  she  no  longer  confided  in  Ursule,  nor  in  her  mother, 
who  had  so  charitably  deceived  her.  She  wanted  certainty, 
and  she  had  not  long  to  wait  for  it.  Certainty  is  never  coy ; 
it  is  like  the  sun,  we  soon  need  to  pull  down  the  blinds  before 
it.  In  love  it  is  a  repetition  of  the  fable  of  the  Woodman 
calling  on  Death.  We  wish  that  certainty  would  blind  us. 

One  morning,  a  fortnight  after  the  first  catastrophe,  Sabine 
received  this  dreadful  letter: — 

To  Madame  la  Baronne  du  Guenic. 

"GUERAKDK. 

"MY  DEAR  DAUGHTER, — My  sister  Zephirine  and  I  are  lost 
in  conjectures  as  to  the  dressing-table  mentioned  in  your 
letter;  I  am  writing  about  it  to  Calyste,  and  beg  your  for- 
giveness for  my  ignorance.  You  cannot  doubt  our  affection. 
We  are  saving  treasure  for  you.  Thanks  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel's  advice  as  to  the  management  of  your  land,  you 
will  in  a  few  years  find  yourself  possessed  of  a  considerable 
capital  without  having  to  diminish  your  expenditure. 

"Your  letter,  dearest  daughter — whom  I  love  as  much  as 
if  I  had  borne  you  and  fed  you  at  my  own  breast — surprised 
me  by  its  brevity,  and  especially  by  your  making  no  mention 
of  my  dear  little  Calyste ;  you  had  nothing  to  tell  me  about  the 
elder  Calyste ;  he,  I  know,  is  happy,"  etc. 

Sabine  wrote  across  this  letter,  "Brittany  is  too  noble  to  lie 
with  one  accord!"  and  laid  it  on  Calyste's  writing-table.  He 
found  it  and  read  it.  After  recognizing  Sabine's  writing  in 
the  line  across  it,  he  threw  it  into  the  fire,  determined  never 


BEATRIX  269 

to  have  seen  it.  Sabine  spent  a  whole  week  in  misery,  of 
which  the  secret  may  be  understood  by  those  celestial  or 
hermit  souls  that  have  never  been  touched  by  the  wing  of  the 
fallen  angel.  Calyste's  silence  terrified  Sabine. 

"I,  who  ought  to  be  all  sweetness,  all  joy  to  him — I  have 
vexed  him,  hurt  him !  My  virtue  is  become  hateful ;  I  have 
perhaps  humiliated  my  idol/'  said  she  to  herself. 

These  thoughts  ploughed  furrows  in  her  soul.  She  thought 
of  asking  forgiveness  for  this  fault,  but  certainty  brought  her 
fresh  proofs. 

Beatrix,  insolently  bold,  wrote  to  Calyste  one  day  at  his 
own  house.  The  letter  was  put  into  Madame  du  Guenic's 
hands ;  she  gave  it  to  her  husband  unopened,  but  she  said,  with 
death  in  her  soul,  and  in  a  broken  voice : 

"My  dear,  this  note  is  from  the  Jockey  Club;  I  know  the 
scent  and  the  paper." 

Calyste  blushed  and  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket. 

"Why  do  you  not  read  it?" 

"I  know  what  they  want." 

The  young  wife  sat  down.  She  did  not  get  an  attack  of 
fever,  she  did  not  cry,  but  she  felt  one  of  those  surges  of  rage 
which  in  such  feeble  creatures  bring  forth  monsters  of  crime, 
which  arm  them  with  arsenic  for  themselves  or  for  their  rivals. 
Little  Calyste  was  presently  brought  to  her,  and  she  took 
him  on  her  lap;  the  child,  but  just  weaned,  turned' to  find  the 
breast  under  her  dress. 

"He  remembers !"  said  she  in  a  whisper. 

Calyste  went  to  his  room  to  read  the  letter.  When  he  was 
gone  the  poor  young  creature  burst  into  tears,  such  tears  as 
women  shed  when  they  are  alone.  Pain,  like  pleasure,  has  its 
initiatory  stage;  the  first  anguish,  like  that  of  which  Sabine 
had  so  nearly  died,  can  never  recur,  any  more  than  a  first  ex- 
perience of  any  kind.  It  is  the  first  wedge  of  the  torture  of 
the  heart ;  the  others  are  expected,  the  wringing  of  the  nerves 
is  a  known  thing,  the  capital  of  strength  has  accumulated  a 
deposit  for  firm  resistance.  And  Sabine,  sure  now  of  the 
worst,  sat  by  the  fire  for  three  hours  with  her  boy  on  her  knee, 


270  BEATRIX 

and  was  quite  startled  when  Gasselin,  now  their  house-servant, 
came  to  announce  that  dinner  was  on  the  table. 

"Let  Monsieur  know." 

"Monsieur  is  not  dining  at  home,  Madame  la  Baronne." 

Who  can  tell  all  the  misery  for  a  young  woman  of  three- 
and-twenty,  the  torture  of  finding  herself  alone  in  the  midst 
of  a  vast  dining-room,  in  an  ancient  house,  served  by  silent 
men,  and  in  such  circumstances? 

"Order  the  carriage,"  she  said  suddenly ;  "I  am  going  to  the 
Opera." 

She  dressed  splendidly;  she  meant  to  show  herself  alone, 
and  smiling  like  a  happy  woman.  In  the  midst  of  her  re- 
morse for  the  endorsement  on  that  letter  she  was  determined 
to  triumph,  to  bring  Calyste  back  to  her  by  the  greatest  gen- 
tleness, by  wifely  virtues,  by  the  meekness  of  a  Paschal  lamb. 
She  would  lie  to  all  Paris.  She  loved  him,  she  loved  him  as 
courtesans  love,  or  angels,  with  pride  and  with  humility. 

But  the  Opera  was  Othello.  When  Rubini  sang  II  mio  cor 
si  divide,  she  fled.  Music  is  often  more  powerful  than  the 
poet  and  the  actor,  the  two  most  formidable  natures  combined. 
Savinien  de  Portenduere  accompanied  Sabine  to  the  portico 
and  put  her  into  her  carriage,  unable  to  account  for  her  pre- 
cipitate escape. 

Madame  du  Guenic  now  entered  on  a  period  of  sufferings 
such  as  only  the  highest  classes  can  know.  You  who  are  poor, 
envious,  wretched,  when  you  see  on  ladies'  arms  those  snakes 
with  diamond  heads,  those  necklaces  and  pins,  tell  yourselves 
that  those  vipers  sting,  that  those  necklaces  have  poisoned 
teeth,  that  those  light  bonds  cut  into  the  tender  flesh  to  the 
very  quick.  All  this  luxury  must  be  paid  for.  In  Sabine's 
position  women  can  curse  the  pleasures  of  wealth;  they  cease 
to  see  the  gilding  of  their  rooms,  the  silk  of  sofas  is  as  tow, 
exotic  flowers  as  nettles,  perfumes  stink,  miracles  of  cookery 
scrape  the  throat  like  barley-bread,  and  life  has  the  bitterness 
of  the  Dead  Sea. 

Two  or  three  instances  will  so  plainly  show  the  reaction  of 


BEATRIX  271 

a  room  or  of  a  woman  on  happiness,  that  every  one  who  has 
experienced  it  will  be  reminded  of  their  home-life. 

Sabine,  warned  of  the  dreadful  truth,  studied  her  husband 
when  he  was  going  out,  to  guess  at  the  day's  prospects.  With 
what  a  surge  of  suppressed  fury  does  a  woman  fling  herself  on 
to  the  red-hot  pikes  of  such  torture ! — What  joy  for  Sabine 
when  he  did  not  go  to  the  Rue  de  Courcelles  !  When  he  came 
in  she  would  look  at  his  brow,  his  hair,  his  eyes,  his  expression 
and  attitude,  with  a  horrible  interest  in  trifles,  and  the 
studious  observation  of  the  most  recondite  details  of  his  dress, 
by  which  a  woman  loses  her  self-respect  and  dignity.  These 
sinister  investigations,  buried  in  her  heart,  turned  sour  there 
and  corroded  the  slender  roots,  whence  grow  the  blue  flowers 
of  holy  confidence,  the  golden  stars  of  saintly  love,  all  the 
blossoms  of  memory. 

One  day  Calyste.  looked  round  at  everything  with  ill-humor, 
but  he  stayed  at  home!  Sabine  was  coaxing  and  humble, 
cheerful  and  amusing. 

"You  are  cross  with  me,  Calyste ;  am  I  not  a  good  wife  ? — 
What  is  there  here  that  you  do  not  like?" 

"All  the  rooms  are  so  cold  and  bare/'  said  he.  "You  do 
not  understand  this  kind  of  thing." 

"What  is  wanting?" 

"Flowers " 

"Very  good,"  said  Sabine  to  herself;  "Madame  de  Roche- 
fide  is  fond  of  flowers,  it  would  seem." 

Two  days  later  the  rooms  at  the  Hotel  du  Guenic  were  com- 
pletely altered.  No  house  in  Paris  could  pride  itself  on  finer 
flowers  than  those  that  decorated  it. 

Some  time  after  this  Calyste,  one  evening  after  dinner,  com- 
plained of  the  cold.  He  shivered  in  his  chair,  looking  about 
him  to  see  whence  the  draught  came,  and  evidently  seeking 
something  close  about  him.  It  was  some  time  before  Sabine 
could  guess  the  meaning  of  this  new  whim,  for  the  house 
was  fitted  with  a  hot-air  furnace  to  warm  the  staircase,  ante- 
rooms, and  passages.  Finally,  after  three  days'  meditation, 
it  struck  her  that  her  rival  had  a  screen,  no  doubt,  so  as  to 


272  BEATRIX 

produce  the  subdued  light  that  was  favorable  to  the  deteriora- 
tion of  her  face ;  so  Sabine  purchased  a  screen  made  of  glass, 
and  of  Jewish  magnificence. 

"Which  way  will  the  wind  blow  now  ?"  she  wondered. 

This  was  not  the  end  of  the  mistress'  indirect  criticism. 
Calyste  ate  so  little  at  home  as  to  drive  Sabine  crazy ;  he  sent 
away  his  plate  after  nibbling  two  or  three  mouthfuls. 

"Is  it  not  nice?"  asked  Sabine,  in  despair,  seeing  all  the 
pains  wasted  which  she  devoted  to  her  conferences  with  the 
cook. 

"I  did  not  say  so,  my  darling,"  replied  Calyste,  without 
annoyance.  "I  am  not  hungry,  that  is  all." 

A  wife  given  up  to  a  legitimate  passion  and  to  such  a  con- 
test as  this,  feels  a  sort  of  fury  in  her  desire  to  triumph  over 
her  rival,  and  often  outruns  the  mark  even  in  the  most  secret 
regions  of  married  life.  This  cruel  struggle,  fierce  and  cease- 
less, over  the  visible  and  outward  facts  of  home-life,  was 
carried  on  with  equal  frenzy  over  the  feelings  of  the  heart. 
Sabine  studied  her  attitudes  and  dress,  and  watched  herself  in 
the  smallest  trivialities  of  love. 

This  matter  of  the  cookery  went  on  for  nearly  a  month. 
Sabine,  with  the  help  of  Mariotte  and  Gasselin,  invented  stage 
tricks  to  discover  what  dishes  Madame  de  Rochefide  served  up 
for  Calyste.  Gasselin  took  the  place  of  the  coachman,  who 
fell  ill  to  order,  and  was  thus  enabled  to  make  friends  with 
Beatrix's  cook;  so  at  last  Sabine  could  give  Calyste  the  same 
fare,  only  better;  but  again  she  saw  him  give  himself  airs 
over  it. 

"What  is  wanting?"  said  she. 

"Nothing,"  he  answered,  looking  round  the  table  for  some- 
thing that  was  not  there. 

"Ah !"  cried  Sabine  to  herself,  as  she  woke  next  morning, 
"Calyste  is  pining  for  powdered  cockroaches*  and  all  the  Eng- 
lish condiments  which  are  sold  by  the  druggist  in  cruets; 
Madame  de  Rochefide  has  accustomed  him  to  all  sorts  of 
spices." 

*  Balzac  has  hannetons,  cockchafers.    It  was  an  old  joke  that  Soy  was  made  of 
cockroaches.— Translator. 


BEATRIX  273 

She  bought  an  English  cruet-stand  and  its  scorching  con- 
tents ;  but  she  could  not  pursue  her  discoveries  down  to  every 
dainty  devised  by  her  rival. 

This  phase  lasted  for  several  months ;  nor  need  we  wonder 
when  we  remember  all  the  attractions  of  such  a  contest.  It 
is  life;  with  all  its  wounds  and  pangs  it  is  preferable  to  the 
blank  gloom  of  disgust,  to  the  poison  of  contempt,  to  the 
blankness  of  abdication,  to  the  death  of  the  heart  that  we 
call  indifference.  Still,  all  Sabine's  courage  oozed  out  one 
evening  when  she  appeared  dressed,  as  women  only  dress  by  a 
sort  of  inspiration,  in  the  hope  of  winning  the  victory  over 
another,  and  when  Calyste  said  with  a  laugh : 

"Do  what  you  will,  Sabine,  you  will  never  be  anything 
but  a  lovely  Andalusian  I" 

"Alas !"  said  she,  sinking  onto  her  sofa,  "I  can  never  be 
fair.  But  if  this  goes  on,  I  know  that  I  shall  soon  be  five-and- 
thirty." 

She  refused  to  go  to  th^  Italian  opera;  she  meant  to  stay 
in  her  room  a. A  the  evening.  When  she  was  alone  she  tore  the 
flowers  from  her  hair  and  stamped  upon  them,  she  undressed, 
trampled  her  go^n,  her  sash,  all  her  finery  under  foot,  exactly 
like  a  goat  caught  in  a  loop  of  its  tether,  which  never  ceases 
struggling  till  death.  Then  she  went  to  bed.  The  maid 
presently  came  in.  Imagine  her  surprise ! 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  Sabine.     "It  is  Monsieur." 

Unhappy  wives  know  this  superb  vanity,  these  falsehoods, 
where,  of  two  kinds  of  shame  both  in  arms,  the  more  womanly 
Wins  the  day. 

Sabine  was  growing  thin  under  these  terrible  agitations, 
grief  ate  into  her  soul;  but  she  never  forgot  the  part  she 
had  forced  on  herself.  A  sort  of  fever  kept  her  up,  her  life 
sent  back  to  her  throat  the  bitter  words  suggested  to  her  by 
grief ;  she  sheathed  the  lightnings  of  her  fine  black  eyes,  and 
made  them  soft,  even  humble. 

Her  fading  health  was  soon  perceptible.  The  Duchess,  an 
admirable  mother,  though  her  piety  had  become  more  and 


274  BEATRIX 

more  Portuguese,  thought  there  was  some  mortal  disease  in 
the  really  sickly  condition  which  Sabine  evidently  encouraged. 
She  knew  of  the  acknowledged  intimacy  of  Calyste  and  Bea- 
trix. She  took  care  to  have  her  daughter  with  her  to  try  to 
heal  her  wounded  feelings,  and,  above  all,  to  save  her  from 
her  daily  martyrdom;  but  Sabine  for  a  long  time  remained 
persistently  silent  as  to  her  woes,  fearing  some  intervention 
between  herself  and  Calyste.  She  declared  she  was  happy! 
Having  exhausted  sorrow,  she  fell  back  on  her  pride,  on  all  her 
virtues. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  however,  of  being  petted  by  her 
sister  Clotilde  and  her  mother,  she  confessed  her  griefs,  told 
them  all  her  sufferings,  and  cursed  life,  saying  that  she  looked 
forward  to  death  with  delirious  joy.  She  desired  Clotilde, 
who  meant  never  to  marry,  to  be  a  mother  to  little  Calyste, 
the  loveliest  child  any  royal  race  need  wish  for  as  its  heir- 
presumptive. 

One  evening,  sitting  with  her  youngest  sister  Athena'is — 
who  was  to  be  married  to  the  Vicomte  de  Grandlieu  after  Lent 
— with  Clotilde,  and  the  Duchess,  Sabine  uttered  the  last  cry 
of  her  anguish  of  heart,  wrung  from  her  by  the  extremity 
of  her  last  humiliation. 

"Athena'is,"  said  she,  when  at  about  eleven  o'clock  the  young 
Vicomte  Juste  de  Grandlieu  took  his  leave,  "you  are  going  to 
be  married,  profit  by  my  example !  Keep  your  best  qualities 
to  yourself,  as  if  they  were  a  crime,  resist  the  temptation  to 
display  them  in  order  to  please  Juste.  Be  calm,  dignified, 
cold;  measure  out  the  happiness  you  give  in  proportion  to 
what  .you  receive.  It  is  mean,  but  it  is  necessary. — You  see, 
I  am  ruined  by  my  merits.  All  I  feel  within  me  that  is  the 
best  of  me,  that  is  fine,  holy,  noble, — all  my  virtues  have  been 
rocks  on  which  my  happiness  is  shipwrecked.  I  have  ceased 
to  be  attractive  because  I  am  not  six-and-thirty ! — In  some 
men's  eyes  youth  is  a  defect!  There  is  no  guesswork  in  a 
guileless  face. 

"I  laugh  honestly,  and  that  is  quite  wrong  when,  to  be 
fascinating,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  elaborate  the  melancholy, 


BEATRIX  275 

suppressed  smile  of  the  fallen  angels  who  are  obliged  to  hide 
their  long  yellow  teeth.  A  fresh  complexion  is  so  monoto- 
nous ;  far  preferable  is  a  doll's  waxen  surface,  compounded  of 
rouge,  spermaceti,  and  cold-cream.  I  am  straightforward, 
and  double  dealing  is  more  pleasing !  I  am  frankly  in  love 
like  an  honest  woman,  and  I  ought  to  be  trained  to  tricks 
and  manreuvres  like  a  country  actress.  I  am  intoxicated  with 
the  delight  of  having  one  of  the  most  charming  men  in 
France  for  my  husband,  and  T  tell  him  sincerely  how  fine  a 
gentleman  he  is,  how  gracefully  he  moves,  how  handsome  I 
thintt  him ;  to  win  him  I  ought  to  look  away  with  affected  aver- 
sion, to  hate  love-making,  to  tell  him  that  his  air  of  distinc- 
tion is  simply  an  unhealthy  pallor  and  the  figure  of  a  con- 
sumptive patient,  to  cry  up  the  shoulders  of  the  Farnese  Her- 
cules, to  make  him  angry,  keep  him  at  a  distance  as  though 
a  struggle  were  needed  to  hide  from  him  at  the  moment  of 
happiness  some  imperfection  which  might  destroy  love.  I 
am  so  unlucky  as  to  be  able  to  admire  a  fine  thing  without 
striving  to  give  myself  importance  by  bitter  and  envious 
criticism  of  everything  glorious  in  poetry  or  beauty.  I  do 
not  want  to  be  told  in  verse  and  in  prose  by  Canalis  and 
Nathan  that  I  have  a  superior  intellect !  I  am  a  mere  simple 
girl ;  I  see  no  one  but  Calyste ! 

"If  I  had  only  run  all  over  the  world  as  she  has;  if,  like 
her,  I  had  said,  'I  love  you/  in  every  European  tongue,  I 
should  be  made  much  of,  and  pitied,  and  adored,  and  could 
serve  him  up  a  Macedonian  banquet  of  cosmopolitan  loves ! 
A  man  does  not  thank  you  for  your  tenderness  till  you  have 
set  it  off  by  contrast  with  malignity.  So  I,  a  well-born  wife, 
must  learn  all  impurity,  the  interested  charms  of  a  prostitute ! 
.  .  .  And  Calyste,  the  dupe  of  this  grimacing!  .  .  . 
Oh,  mother !  oh,  my  dear  Clotilde !  I  am  stricken  to  death. 
My  pride  is  a  deceptive  aegis ;  I  am  defenceless  against  sorrow : 
I  still  love  my  husband  like  a  fool,  and  to  bring  him  back  I* 
me  I  need  to  borrow  the  keen  wit  of  indifference." 

"Silly  child,"  whispered  Clotilde,  "pretend  that  you  are 
bent  on  vengeance." 


276  BEATRIX 

"I  mean  to  die  blameless,  without  even  the  appearance  of 
wrong-doing,"  replied  Sabine.  "Our  vengeance  should  be 
worthy  of  our  love." 

"My  child,"  said  the  Duchess,  "a  mother  should  look  on  life 
with  colder  eyes  than  yours.  Love  is  not  the  end  but  the 
means  of  family  life.  Do  not  imitate  that  poor  little  Baronne 
de  Macumer.  Excessive  passion  is  barren  and  fatal.  And 
God  sends  us  our  afflictions  for  reasons  of  His  own.  .  .  . 

"Now  that  Athena'is'  marriage  is  a  settled  thing,  I  shall 
have  time  to  attend  to  you.  I  have  already  discussed  the 
delicate  position  in  which  you  are  placed  with  your  father 
and  the  Due  de  Chaulieu  and  d'Ajuda.  We  shall  find  means 
to  bring  Calyste  back  to  you." 

"With  the  Marquise  de  Eochefide  there  is  no  cause  for 
despair,"  said  Clotilde,  smiling  at  her  sister.  "She  does  not 
keep  her  adorers  long." 

"D'Ajuda,  my  darling,  was  Monsieur  de  Rochefide's 
brother-in-law.  If  our  good  Confessor  approves  of  the  little 
manoeuvres  we  must  achieve  to  ensure  the  success  of  the  plan 
I  have  submitted  to  your  father,  I  will  guarantee  Calyste's 
return.  My  conscience  loathes  the  use  of  such  methods,  and 
I  will  lay  them  before  the  Abbe  Brossette.  We  need  not 
wait,  my  child,  till  you  are  in  extremis  to  come  to  your  as- 
sistance. Keep  up  your  hopes.  Your  grief  this  evening  is 
so  great  that  I  have  let  out  my  secret;  I  cannot  bear  not  to 
give  you  a  little  encouragement." 

"Will  it  cause  Calyste  any  grief?"  asked  Sabine,  looking 
anxiously  at  the  Duchess. 

"Bless  me,  shall  I  be  such  another  fool?"  asked  Athenai's 
simply. 

"Oh !  child,  you  cannot  know  the  straits  into  which  Virtue 
can  plunge  us  when  she  allows  herself  to  be  overruled  by 
Love !"  replied  Sabine,  so  bewildered  with  grief  that  she  fell 
into  a  vein  of  poetry. 

The  words  were  spoken  with  such  intense  bitterness  that 
the  Duchess,  enlightened  by  her  daughter's  tone,  accent,  and 
look,  understood  that  there  was  some  unconfessed  trouble. 


BEATRIX  277 

"Girls,  it  is  midnight ;  go  to  bed,"  said  she  to  the  two  others, 
whose  eyes  were  sparkling. 

"And  am  I  in  the  way,  too,  in  spite  of  my  six-and-thirty 
years?"  asked  Clotilde  ironically.  And  while  Athenais  was 
kissing  her  mother,  she  whispered  in  Sabine's  ear : 

"You  shall  tell  me  all  about  it.  I  will  dine  with  you  to- 
morrow. If  mamma  is  afraid  of  compromising  her  con- 
science, 1  myself  will  rescue  Calyste  from  the  hands  of  the 
infidels/' 

"Well,  Sabine,"  said  the  Duchess,  leading  her  daughter 
into  her  bedroom,  "tell  me,  my  child,  what  is  the  new 
trouble.'' 

"Oh,  mother,  I  am  done  for!" 

"Why?" 

"I  wanted  to  triumph  over  that  horrible  woman;  I  suc- 
ceeded, I  have  another  child  coming,  and  Calyste  loves  her 
so  vehemently  that  I  foresee  being  absolutely  deserted.  When 
she  has  proof  of  this  infidelity  to  her  she  will  be .  furious ! — 
Oh,  I  am  suffering  such  torments  that  I  must  die.  I  know 
when  he  is  going  to  her,  know  it  by  his  glee ;  then  his  surliness 
shows  me  when  he  has  left  her.  In  short,  he  makes  no  secret 
of  it ;  he  cannot  endure  me.  Her  influence  over  him  is  as  un- 
wholesome as  she  is  herself,  body  and  soul.  You  will  see ;  as 
her  reward  for  making  up  some  quarrel,  she  will  insist  on  a 
public  rupture  with  me,  a  breach  like  her  own ;  she  will  carry 
him  off  to  Switzerland  perhaps,  or  to  Italy.  He  has  been  saying 
that  it  is  ridiculous  to  know  nothing  of  Europe,  and  I  can 
guess  what  these  hints  mean,  thrown  out  as  a  warning.  If 
Calyste  is  not  cured  within  the  next  three  months,  I  do  not 
know  what  will  come  of  it — I  shall  kill  myself,  I  know !" 

"Unhappy  child  !    And  your  son  ?    Suicide  is  a  mortal  sin." 

"But  do  not  you  understand, — she  might  bear  him  a  child ; 
and  if  Calyste  loved  that  woman's  more  than  mine — Oh !  this 
is  the  end  of  my  patience  and  resignation." 

She  dropped  on  a  chair;  she  had  poured  out  the  inmost 
thoughts  of  her  heart ;  she  had  no  hidden  pang  left ;  and  sor- 
row is  like  the  iron  prop  that  sculptors  place  inside  a  clay 
figure,  it  is  supporting,  it  is  a  power. 


278  BEATRIX 

•  "Well,  well,  go  home  now,  poor  little  thing !  Face  to  face 
with  so  much  suffering,  perhaps  the  Abbe  will  give  me  absolu- 
tion for  the  venial  sins  we  are  forced  to  commit  by  the  trickery 
of  the  world.  Leave  me,  daughter,"  she  said,  going  to  her 
prie-Dieu;  "I  will  beseech  the  Lord  and  the  Blessed  Virgin 
more  especially  for  you.  Above  all,  do  not  neglect  your  re- 
ligious duties  if  you  hope  for  success." 

"Succeed  as  we  may,  mother,  we  can  only  save  the  family 
honor.  Calyste  has  killed  the  sacred  fervor  of  love  in  me  by 
exhausting  all  my  powers,  even  of  suffering.  What  a  honey- 
moon was  that  in  which  from  the  first  day  I  was  bitterly 
conscious  of  his  retrospective  adultery !" 

At  about  one  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  one  of 
the  priests  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain — a  man  distin- 
guished among  the  clergy  of  Paris,  designate  as  a  Bishop  in 
1840,  but  who  had  three  times  refused  a  see — the  Abbe  Bros- 
sette  was  crossing  the  courtyard  of  the  Hotel  Grandlieu  with 
the  peculiar  gait  one  must  call  the  ecclesiastical  gait,  so  ex- 
pressive is  it  of  prudence,  mystery,  calmness,  gravity,  and 
dignity  itself.  He  was  a  small,  lean  man,  about  fifty  years 
of  age,  with  a  face  as  white  as  an  old  woman's,  chilled  by 
priestly  fasting,  furrowed  by  all  the  sufferings  he  made  his 
own.  Black  eyes,  alight  with  faith,  but  softened  by  an  ex- 
pression that  was  mysterious  rather  than  mystical,  gave  life 
to  this  apostolic  countenance.  He  almost  smiled  as  he  went 
up  the  steps,  so  little  did  he  believe  in  the  enormity  of  the 
case  for  which  his  penitent  had  sent  for  him;  but  as  the 
Duchess'  hand  was  a  sieve  for  alms,  she  was  well  worth  the 
time  her  guileless  confessions  stole  from  the  serious  troubles 
of  his  parish.  On  hearing  him  announced,  the  Duchess  rose 
and  went  forward  a  few  steps  to  meet  him,  an  honor  she  did 
to  none  but  cardinals,  bishops,  priests  of  every  grade,  duch- 
esses older  than  herself,  and  personages  of  the  blood  royal. 

"My  dear  Abbe,"  said  she,  pointing  to  an  armchair,  and 
speaking  in  a  low  tone,  "I  require  the  authority  of  your  ex- 
perience before  I  embark  on  a  rather  nasty  intrigue,  from 


'  Leave  me.  daughter."  she  said,  going  to  her  prie-dieu 


BEATRIX  278 

which,  however,  I  hope  for  a  good  result ;  I  wish  to  learn  from 
von  whether  I  shall  find  the  way  of  salvation  very  thorny  in 
consequence." 

"Madame  la  Duchesse,"  said  the  Abbe  Brossette,  "do  not 
mix  up  spiritual  and  wordly  matters;  they  are  often  irre- 
concilable.— In  the  first  place,  what  is  this  business?" 

"My  daughter  Sabine,  you  know,  is  dying  of  grief.  Mon- 
sieur du  Guenic  neglects  her  for  Madame  de  Rochefide." 

"It  is  terrible — a  very  serious  matter;  but  you  know  what 
the  beloved  Saint-Francois  de  Sales  says  of  such  a  case.  And 
remember  Madame  de  Guyon,  who  bewailed  the  lack  of  mysti- 
cism in  the  proofs  of  conjugal  love ;  she  would  have  been  only 
too  glad  to  find  a  Madame  de  Rochefide  for  her  husband." 

"Sabine  is  only  too  meek,  she  is  only  too  completely  the 
Christian  wife;  but  she  has  not  the  smallest  taste  for  mysti- 
cism." 

"Poor  young  thing !"  said  the  cure  slily.  "And  what  is 
}'our  plan  for  remedying  the  mischief?" 

"I  have  been  so  sinful,  my  dear  Director,  as  to  think  that  I 
might  let  loose  at  her  a  smart  little  gentleman,  wilful,  and 
stocked  with  evil  characteristics,  who  will  certainly  get  my 
son-in-law  out  of  the  way." 

"Daughter,"  said  he,  stroking  his  chin,  "we  are  not  in 
the  tribunal  of  the  repentant ;  I  need  not  speak  as  your  judge. 
— From  a  wordly  point  of  view,  I  confess  it  would  be  final — " 

"Such  a  proceeding  strikes  me  as  truly  odious !"  she  put 
in. 

"And  why  ?  It  is,  no  doubt,  far  more  the  part  of  a  Chris- 
tian to  snatch  a  woman  from  her  evil  ways  than  to  push  her 
forward  in  them ;  still,  when  she  has  already  gone  so  far  as 
Madame  de  Rochefide,  it  is  not  the  hand  of  man,  but  the  hand 
of  God,  that  can  rescue  the  sinner.  She  needs  a  special  sign 
from  Heaven." 

"Thank  you,  Father,  for  your  indulgence,"  said  the  Duchess. 
"But  we  must  remember  that  my  son-in-law  is  brave,  and 
a  Breton ;  he  was  heroic  at  the  time  of  that  poor  MADAME'S 
attempted  rising.  Now  if  the  young  scapegrace  who  should 


280  BEATRIX 

undertake  to  charm  Madame  de  Kochefide  were  to  fall  out 
with  Calyste,  and  a  duel  should  ensue 

"There,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  you  show  your  wisdom ;  this 
proves  that  in  such  devious  courses  we  always  find  some 
stumbling-block." 

"But  I  hit  upon  a  means,  my  dear  Abbe,  of  doing  good, 
of  rescuing  Madame  de  Eochefide  from  the  fatal  path  she  is 
following,  of  bringing  Calyste  back  to  his  wife,  and  of  saving 
a  poor  wandering  soul  perhaps  from  hell " 

"But,  then,  why  consult  me  ?"  said  the  cure,  smiling. 

"Well,"  said  the  Duchess,  "I  should  have  to  do  some  ugly 
things— 

"You  do  not  mean  to  rob  any  one?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  shall  probably  spend  a  good  deal  of 
money." 

"You  will  not  slander  anybody,  nor " 

"Oh !" 

"Nor  do  any  injury  to  your  neighbor?" 

"Well,  well,  I  cannot  answer  for  that." 

"Let  us  hear  this  new  plan,"  said  the  cure,  really  curious. 

"If,  instead  of  driving  one  nail  out  by  another,  thought  I, 
as  I  knelt  on  my  prie-Dieu,  after  beseeching  the  Blessed 
Virgin  to  guide  me,  I  were  to  get  Monsieur  de  Eochefide  to 
take  back  his  wife  and  pack  off  Calyste — then,  instead  of 
abetting  evil  to  do  good,  I  should  be  doing  a  good  action 
through  another  by  means  of  a  no  less  good  deed  of  my 

own '  The  priest  looked  at  the  lady,  and  seemed 

thoughtful. 

"The    idea    has    evidently    come    to    you    from    so    far 

L  licit' 

"Yes,"  said  the  simple  and  humble-minded  woman,  "and 
I  have  thanked  the  Virgin. — And  I  vowed  that  besides  paying 
for  a  neuvaine,  I  would  give  twelve  hundred  francs  to  some 
poor  family  if  I  should  succeed.  But  when  I  spoke  of  the 
matter  to  Monsieur  de  Grandlieu,  he  burst  out  laughing,  and 
said —  'I  really  believe  that  at  your  time  of  life  you  women 
have  a  special  devil  all  to  yourselves/  " 


BEATRIX  281 

"Monsieur  le  Due  said,  in  a  husband's  fashion,  just  what 
I  was  about  to  observe  when  you  interrupted  me,"  replied  the 
Abbe,  who  could  not  help  smiling. 

"Oh,  Father,  if  you  approve  of  the  plan,  will  you  approve 
of  the  method  of  execution  ?  The  point  will  be  to  do  with  a 
certain  Madame  Schontz — a  Beatrix  of  the  Saint-Georges 
quarter — what  I  had  intended  to  do  with  Beatrix ;  the  'Mar- 
quis will  then  return  to  his  wife." 

"I  am  sure  you  will  do  no  wrong,"  said  the  Abbe  dexter- 
ously, not  choosing  to  know  more,  as  he  thought  the  result 
necessary.  "And  you  can  consult  me  if  your  conscience  makes 
itself  heard,"  he  added.  "Supposing  that  instead  of  afford- 
ing the  lady  in  the  Eue  Saint-Georges  some  fresh  occasion  of 
misconduct,  you  were  to  find  her  a  husband  ? " 

"Ah,  my  dear  Director,  you  have  set  right  the  only  bad  fea- 
ture of  my  scheme.  You  are  worthy  to  be  an  archbishop,  and 
I  hope  to  live  to  address  you  as  your  Eminence." 

"In  all  this,  I  see  but  one  hitch,",  the  priest  went  on. 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"Madame  de  Eochefide  might  keep  your  son-in-law  even  if 
she  returned  to  her  husband?" 

"That  is  my  affair,"  said  the  Duchess.  "We,  who  so  rarely 
intrigue,  when  we  do " 

"Do  it  badly,  very  badly,"  said  the  Abbe.  "Practice  is 
needed  for  everything.  Try  to  annex  one  of  the  rascally  race 
who  live  on  intrigue,  and  employ  him  without  betraying  your- 
self." 

"Oh !  Monsieur  le  Cure,  but  if  we  have  recourse  to  hell,  will 
heaven  be  on  our  side  ?" 

"You  are  not  in  the  confessional,"  replied  the  Abbe ;  "save 
your  child." 

The  good  Duchess,  delighted  with  the  keeper  of  her  con- 
science, escorted  him  as  far  as  the  drawing-room  door. 

A  storm,  it  will  be  seen,  was  gathering  over  Monsieur  de 
Rochefide,  who,  at  this  time,  was  enjoying  the  greatest  share 
of  happiness  that  a  Parisian  need  desire,  finding  himself  quite 


282  BEATRIX 

as  much  the  master  in  Madame  Schontz's  house  as  in  his 
wife's ;  as  the  Duke  had  very  shrewdly  remarked  to  his  wife,  it 
would  seem  impossible  to  upset  so  delightful  and  perfect  a 
plan  of  life.  This  theory  of  the  matter  necessitates  a  few 
details  as  to  the  life  led  by  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  since  his 
wife  had  placed  him  in  the  position  of  a  deserted  husband. 
We  khall  thus  understand  the  enormous  difference  in  the 
view  taken  by  law  and  by  custom  of  the  two  sexes  in  the 
same  circumstances.  Everything  that  works  woe  to  a  deserted 
wife  becomes  happiness  to  the  deserted  husband.  This  strik- 
ing antithesis  may  perhaps  induce  more  than  one  young  wife 
to  remain  in  her  home  and  fight  it  out,  like  Sabine  du  Guenic, 
by  practising  the  most  cruel  or  the  most  inoffensive  virtues, 
whichever  she  may  prefer. 

A  few  days  after  Beatrix's  flight,  Arthur  de  Rochefide — an 
only  child  after  the  death  of  his  sister,  the  first  wife  of  the 
Marquis  d'Ajuda-Pinto,  who  left  him  no  children — found 
himself  master  of  the  family  mansion  of  the  Rochefides,  Rue 
d'Anjou-Saint-Honore,  and  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs 
a  year,  left  to  him  by  his  father.  This  fine  fortune, 
added  to  that  which  he  had  when  he  married,  raised  his  in- 
come, including  his  wife's  portion,  to  a  thousand  francs  a 
day.  To  a  gentleman  of  such  a  character  as  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  had  sketched  to  Calyste,  such  a  fortune  was  happi- 
ness. While  his  wife  was  occupied  with  lovemaking  and 
motherhood,  Rochefide  was  enjoying  his  vast  possessions,  but 
he  did  not  waste  the  money  any  more  than  he  would  waste  his 
intelligence.  His  burly,  good-natured  conceit,  amply  sat- 
isfied with  the  reputation  for  being  a  fine  man,  to  which  he 
owed  some  success,  entitling  him,  as  he  believed,  to  condemn 
women  as  a  class,  gave  itself  full  play  in  the  sphere  of  in- 
tellect. He  was  gifted  with  the  sort  of  wit  which  may  be 
termed  refracting,  by  the  way  he  repeated  other  person's  jests 
and  witticisms  from  plays  or  the  newspapers ;  he  appropriated 
them  as  his  own;  he  affected  to  ridicule  them,  caricaturing 
them  in  repetition,  and  using  them  as  a  formula  of  criticism; 
then  his  military  high  spirits — for  he  had  served  in  the 


BEATRIX  283 

King's  Guard — lent  spice  to  his  conversation,  so  that  dull 
women  called  him  witty,  and  the  rest  dared  not  con- 
tradict them. 

Arthur  carried  this  system  out  in  everything;  he  owed  to 
nature  the  useful  trick  of  being  an  imitator  without  being  an 
ape ;  he  could  imitate  quite  seriously.  And  so,  though  he  had 
no  taste,  he  was  always  the  first  to  take  up  and  to  drop  a 
fashion.  He  was  accused  of  giving  too  much  time  to  his 
toilet,  and  of  wearing  stays ;  but  he  was  a  typical  example  of 
those  men  who,  by  accepting  the  notions  and  the  follies  of 
others,  never  offend  any  one,  who,  always  being  up  to  date, 
never  grow  any  older.  They  are  the  heroes  of  the  second-rate. 

This  husband  was  pitied ;  Beatrix  was  held  inexcusable  for 
having  run  away  from  the  best  fellow  in  the  world;  ridicule 
fell  only  on  the  wife.  This  worthy,  loyal,  and  very  silly  gen- 
tleman, a  member  of  every  club,  a  subscriber  to  every 
absurdity  to  which  blundering  patriotism  and  party-spirit  gave 
rise,  with  a  facile  good-nature  which  brought  him  to  the  front 
on  every  occasion,  was,  of  course,  bent  on  glorifying  himself 
by  some  fashionable  hobby.  His  chief  pride  was  to  be  the 
sultan  of  a  four-footed  seraglio,  managed  by  an  old  English 
groom,  and  this  kennel  cost  him  from  four  to  five  thousand 
francs  a  month.  His  favorite  fad  was  running  horses;  he 
patronized  breeders,  and  paid  the  expenses  of  a  paper  in  the 
racing  interest ;  but  he  knew  little  about  horses,  and  from  the 
bridle  to  the  shoes  trusted  to  his  groom.  This  is  enough  to 
show  that  this  "grass-husband"  had  nothing  of  his  own — 
neither  wit,  nor  taste,  nor  position,  nor  even  absurdities ;  and 
his  fortune  had  come  to  him  from  his  forefathers. 

After  having  tasted  all  the  annoyances  of  married  life, 
he  was  so  happy  to  find  himself  a  bachelor  again,  that  he 
would  say  among  friends,  "I  was  born  to  good  luck !"  He 
rejoiced  especially  in  being  able  to  live  free  of  the  expenses 
to  which  married  folks  are  compelled ;  and  his  house,  in  which 
nothing  had  been  altered  since  his  father's  death,  was  in  the 
state  of  a  man's  home  when  he  is  traveling;  he  rarely  went 
there,  never  fed  there,  and  scarcely  ever  slept  there. 


284  BEATRIX 

This  was  the  history  of  this  neglect.  After  many  love  af- 
fairs, tired  of  women  of  fashion,  who  are  indeed  weariful 
enough,  and  who  set  too  many  dry  thorn-hedges  round  the 
happiness  they  have  to  give,  he  had  practically  married 
Madame  Schontz,  a  woman  notorious  in  the  world  of  Fanny 
Beaupre  and  Suzanne  du  Val-Noble,  of  Mariettes,  Floren- 
tines, Jenny  Cadines,  and  the  like.  This  world — of  which 
one  of  our  draughtsmen  wittily  remarked,  as  he  pointed  to 
the  whirl  of  an  Opera  ball,  "When  you  think  that  all  that  mob 
is  well  housed,  and  dressed,  and  fed,  you  can  form  a  good  idea 
of  what  men  are !" — this  dangerous  world  has  already  been 
seen  in-  this  History  of  Manners  in  the  typical  figures  of 
Florine  and  the  famous  Malaga  (of  A  Daughter  of  Eve  and 
The  Imaginary  Mistress) ;  but  to  paint  it  faithfully,  the  his- 
torian would  have  to  represent  such  persons  in  some  numerical 
proportion  to  the  variety  of  their  strange  individual  lives,  end- 
ing in  poverty  of  the  most  hideous  kind,  in  early  death,  in 
ease,  in  happy  marriage,  or  sometimes  in  great  wealth. 

Madame  Schontz,  at  first  known  as  la  Petite  Aurelie,  to 
distinguish  her  from  a  rival  far  less  clever  than  herself,  be- 
longed to  the  higher  class  of  these  women  on  whose  social  uses 
no  doubt  can  be  thrown  either  by  the  Prefet  of  the  Seine  or 
by  those  who  take  an  interest  in  the  prosperity  of  the  city  of 
Paris.  Certainly  the  "rats"  accused  of  devouring  fortunes, 
which  are  often  imaginary,  in  some  respects  are  more  like  a 
beaver.  Without  the  Aspasias  of  the  Kotre-Dame  de  Lorette 
quarter,  fewer  houses  would  be  built  in  Paris.  Pioneers  of 
fresh  stucco,  in  tow  of  speculation,  pitch  their  outlying 
tents  along  the  hillsides  of  Montmartre,  beyond  those  deserts 
of  masonry  which  are  to  be  seen  in  the  streets  round  the 
Place  de  TEurope — Amsterdam,  Milan,  Stockholm,  London, 
and  Moscow — architectural  steppes  betraying  their  emptiness 
by  endless  placards  announcing  Apartments  to  let. 

The  position  of  these  ladies  is  commensurate  with  that  of 
their  lodgings  in  these  innominate  regions.  If  the  house  is 
near  the  line  marked  by  the  Hue  de  Provence,  the  woman  has 
money  in  the  Funds,  her  income  is  assured;  but  if  she  lives 


BEATRIX  285 

out  near  the  exterior  boulevards,  or  on  the  height  towards 
the  horrible  suburb  of  Batignolles,  she  is  certainly  poor. 

Now  when  Monsieur  de  Eochefide  first  met  Madame 
Schontz,  she  was  lodging  on  the  third  floor  of  the  only  house 
then  standing  in  the  Rue  de  Berlin.  The  name  of  this  un- 
married wife,  as  you  will  have  understood,  was  neither  Aurelie 
nor  Schontz.  She  concealed  her  father's  name — that  of  an 
old  soldier  of  the  Empire,  the  perennial  colonel  who  always 
adorns  the  origin  of  these  existences,  as  the  father  or  the 
seducer.  Madame  Schontz  had  enjoyed  the  benefits  of  a 
gratuitous  education  at  Saint-Denis,  where  the  young  persons 
are  admirably  taught,  but  where  the  young  persons  are  not 
provided  on  leaving  with  husbands  or  a  living — an  admirable 
foundation  of  the  Emperor's,  the  only  thing  lacking  being 
the  Emperor  himself!  "I  shall  be  there  to  provide  for  the 
daughters  of  my  legionaries,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  one  of  his 
Ministers  who  looked  forward  to  the  future.  And  in  the 
same  way  Napoleon  said,  "I  shall  be  there,"  to  the  members 
of  the  Institute,  to  whom  it  would  be  better  to  give  no 
honorarium  at  all  than  to  pay  them  eighty-three  francs  a 
month,  less  than  the  wages  of  many  an  office  clerk. 

Aurelie  was  very  certainly  the  daughter  of  the  valiant 
Colonel  Schiltz,  a  leader  of  those  daring  Alsatian  partisans 
who  so  nearly  succeeded  in  saving  the  Emperor  in  the  French 
campaign;  he  died  at  Metz,  robbed,  neglected,  and  ruined. 
In  1814  Napoleon  sent  little  Josephine  Schiltz,  then  nine 
years  old,  to  school  at  Saint-Denis.  Without  father  or 
mother,  home  or  money,  the  poor  child  was  not  driven  out  of 
the  Institution  on  the  second  return  of  the  Bourbons.  She 
remained  there  as  under-teacher  till  1827;  but  then  her 
patience  failed,  and  her  beauty  led 'her  astray.  When  she 
was  of  age,  Josephine  Schiltz,  the  Empress'  goddaughter, 
embarked  on  the  adventurous  life  of  the  courtesan,  tempted 
to  this  doubtful  career  by  the  fatal  example  of  some  of 
her  school-fellows  as  destitute  as  she  was,  and  who  rejoiced 
in  their  decision.  She  substituted  on  for  il  in  her  father's 
name,  and  placed  herself  under  the  protection  of  Saint- 
Aurelia. 


286  BEATRIX 

Clever,  witty,  and  well  informed,  she  made  more  mistakes 
than  her  more  stupid  companions,  whose  wrong-doing  was 
always  based  on  self-interest.  After  various  connections  with 
writers,  some  poor  but  unmannerly,  some  clever  but  in  debt; 
after  trying  her  fortune  with  some  rich  men  as  close-fisted  as 
they  were  silly;  after  sacrificing  ease  to  a  true  passion,  and 
learning  in  every  school  where  experience  may  be  gained,  one 
day,  when,  in  the  depths  of  poverty,  she  was  dancing  at 
Valentino's — the  first  stage  to  Musard's — dressed  in  a  bor- 
rowed gown  hat,  and  cape,  she  attracted  Eochefide's  atten- 
tion ;  he  had  come  to  see  the  famous  galop !  Her  cleverness 
bewitched  the  gentleman,  who  had  exhausted  every  sensation ; 
and  when,  two  years  after,  being  deserted  by  Beatrix,  whose 
wit  had  often  disconcerted  him,  he  allied  himself  with  a 
second-hand  Beatrix  "of  the  Thirteenth  Arrondissement,"  no 
one  thought  of  blaming  him. 

We  may  here  give  a  sketch  of  the  four  seasons  of  such  a 
happy  home.  It  is  desirable  to  show  how  the  theory  of  "a 
marriage  in  the  Thirteenth  Arrondissement"  includes  all  the 
whole  connection.  Whether  a  marquis  of  forty  or  a  retired 
shopkeeper  of  sixty,  a  millionaire  six  times  over  or  a  man  of 
narrow  private  means,  a  fine  gentleman  or  a  middle-class 
citizen,  the  tactics  of  passion,  barring  the  differences  insepa- 
rable from  dissimilar  social  spheres,  never  vary.  Heart  and 
banking  account  maintain  an  exact  and  definite  relation. 
And  you  will  be  able  to  form  an  idea  of  the  obstacles  the 
Duchess  must  meet  with  to  her  charitable  scheme. 

Few  persons  understand  the  power  of  words  over  ordinary 
folks  in  France,  or  the  mischief  done  by  the  wits  who  invent 
them.  For  instance,  no  book-keeper  could  add  up  the  figures 
of  the  sums  of  money  which  have  lain  unproductive  and  rusty 
at  the  bottom  of  generous  hearts  and  full  coffers  in  con- 
sequence of  the  mean  phrase,  Tirer  une  carotte — to  fleece  or 
bleed  a  victim.  The  words  have  become  so  common  that  they 
must  be  allowed  to  deface  this  page.  Besides,  if  we  venture 
into  the  "Thirteenth  Arrondissement,"  we  must  needs  adopt 
its  picturesque  language. 


BEATRIX  287 

Monsieur  de  Rochefide,  like  all  small  minds,  was  constantly 
in  fear  of  being  bled.  From  the  beginning  of  his  attachment 
to  Madame  Schontz,  Arthur  was  on  his  guard,  and  was  at 
that  time  a  dreadful  screw,  tres  rat,  to  use  another  slang  word 
of  the  studio  and  the  brothel.  This  word  rat  (which  in 
French  has  many  slang  uses)  when  applied  to  a  young  girl 
means  the  person  entertained,  but  applied  to  a  man  means 
the  stingy  entertainer.  Madame  Schontz  had  too  much  in- 
telligence, and  knew  men  too  thoroughly,  not  to  found  high 
hopes  on  such  a  beginning.  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  allowed 
Madame  Schontz  five  hundred  francs  a  month,  furnished, 
meagerly  enough,  a  set  of  rooms  at  twelve  hundred  francs  a 
year  on  the  second  floor  of  a  house  in  the  Rue  Coquenard,  and 
set  himself  to  study  Aurelie's  character ;  and  she,  finding  her- 
self .spied  upon,  gave  him  character  to  study. 

Rochefide  was  delighted  to  have  come  across  a  woman  of 
such  a  noble  nature,  but  it  did  not  astonish  him ;  her  mother 
was  a  Barnheim  of  Baden,  quite  a  lady !  And  then  Aurelie 
had  been  so  well  brought  up !  Speaking  English,  German,  and 
Italian,  she  was  versed  in  foreign  literature ;  she  could  pit  her- 
self, without  discomfiture,  against  pianists  of  the  second  class. 
And,  note  the  point !  she  behaved  as  regarded  her  talents  like 
a  woman  of  breeding;  she  never  talked  about  them.  In  a 
painter's  studio  she  would  take  up  a  brush  in  fun,  and  sketch 
a  head  with  so  much  go  as  to  amaze  the  company.  As  a 
pastime,  when  she  was  pining  as  a  school  teacher,  she  had 
dabbled  in  some  sciences,  but  her  life  as  a  kept  mistress  had 
sown  salt  over  all  this  good  seed,  and,  of  course,  she  laid  the 
flower  of  these  precious  growths,  revived  for  him,  at  Arthur's 
feet.  Thus  did  Aurelie  at  first  make  a  display  of  disinter- 
estedness to  match  the  pleasures  she  could  give,  which  enabled 
this  light  corvette  to  cast  her  grappling-irons  firmly  on  board 
the  statelier  craft.  Still,  even  at  the  end  of  the  first  year,  she 
made  a  vulgar  noise  in  the  ante-room,  managing  to  come  in 
just  when  the  Marquis  was  waiting  for  her,  and  tried  to  hide 
the  disgracefully  muddy  hem  of  her  gown  in  such  a  way  as  to 
make  it  more  conspicuous.  In  short,  she  so  cleverly  contrived 


288  BEATRIX 

to  persuade  her  Gros  Papa  that  her  utmost  ambition,  after  so 
many  vicissitudes,  was  to  enjoy  a  simple,  middle-class  ex- 
istence, that  by  the  end  of  ten  months  the  second  phase  of 
their  connection  began. 

Then  Madame  Schontz  had  a  fine  apartment  in  the  Eue 
Saint-Georges.  Arthur,  who  could  no  longer  conceal  from 
her  the  fact  of  his  wealth,  gave  her  handsome  furniture,  a 
service  of  plate,  twelve  hundred  francs  a  month,  and  a  little 
low  carriage,  with  a  single  horse,  by  the  week,  and  he  granted 
her  a  little  groom  with  a  fairly  good  grace.  She  knew  what  this 
munificence  was  worth;  she  detected  the  motives  of  her 
Arthur's  conduct,  and  saw  in  them  the  calculations  of  a 
close-fisted  man.  Tired  of  living  at  restaurants,  where  the 
food  is  generally  execrable,  where  the  simplest  dinner  of  any 
refinement  costs  sixty  francs,  and  two  hundred  for  a  party  of 
four  friends,  Eochefide  offered  Madame  Schontz  forty  francs 
a  day  for  his  dinner  and  a  friend's,  wine  included.  Aurelie 
had  no  mind  to  refuse.  After  getting  all  her  moral  bills  of 
exchange  accepted,  drawn  on  Monsieur  de  Eochefide's  habits 
at  a  year's  date,  she  was  favorably  heard  when  she  asked  for 
five  hundred  francs  a  year  more  for  dress,  on  the  plea  that  her 
Gros  Papa,  whose  friends  all  belonged  to  the  Jockey  Club, 
might  not  be  ashamed  of  her. 

"A  pretty  thing,  indeed,"  said  she,  "if  Eastignac,  Maxime 
de  Trailles,  la  Eoche-Hugon,  Eonquerolles,  Laginski,  Lenon- 
court,  and  the  rest  should  see  you  with  a  Madame  Evrard ! 
Put  your  trust  in  me,  Gros  Pere,  and  you  will  be  the  gainer." 

And  Aurelie  did,  in  fact,  lay  herself  out  for  a  fresh  display 
of  virtues  in  these  new  circumstances.  She  sketched  a  part 
for  herself  as  the  housewife,  in  which  she  won  ample  credit. 
She  made  both  ends  meet,  said  she,  at  the  end  of  the  month, 
and  had  no  debts,  on  two  thousand  five  hundred  francs,  such 
a  thing  as  had  never  been  seen  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain 
of  the  Thirteenth  Arrondissement — the  upper  ten  of  the  demi- 
rep's world;  and  she  gave  dinners  infinitely  better  than 
Nucingen's,  with  first-class  wines  at  ten  and  twelve  francs  a 
bottle.  So  that  Eochefide,  amazed  and  delighted  to  be  able 


BEATRIX  289 

to  ask  his  friends  pretty  often  to  his  mistress'  house  as  a 
matter  of  economy,  would  say  to  her,  with  his  arm  round 
her  waist,  "You  are  a  perfect  treasure!" 

Before  long  he  took  a  third  share  in  an  opera  box  for  her, 
and  at  last  went  with  her  to  first-night  performances.  He  be- 
gan to  take  counsel  of  his  Aurelie,  acknowledging  the  sound- 
ness of  her  advice ;  she  allowed  him  to  appropriate  the  wit  she 
was  always  ready  with ;  and  her  sallies,  being  new,  won  him 
the  reputation  for  being  an  amusing  man.  At  last  he  felt  per- 
fectly sure  that  she  loved  him  truly,  and  for  himself.  Aurelie 
refused  to  make  a  Eussian  prince  happy  at  the  rate  of  five 
thousand  francs  a  month. 

"You  are  a  happy  man,  my  dear  Marquis,"  cried  old  Prince 
Galathionne  as  they  ended  a  rubber  of  whist  at  the  club.  "Yes- 
terday, when  you  left  us  together,  I  tried  to  get  her  away  from 
you ;  but  'Mon  Prince/  said  she,  'you  are  not  handsomer  than 
Eochefide  though  you  are  older ;  you  would  beat  me,  and  he  is 
like  a  father  to  me;  show  me  then  the  quarter  of  a  good 
reason  for  leaving  him !  I  do  not  love  Arthur  with  the  crazy 
passion  I  had  for  the  young  rogues  with  patent  leather  boots, 
whose  bills  I  used  to  pay ;  but  I  love  him  as  a  wife  loves  her 
husband  when  she  is  a  decent  woman.' — And  she  showed  me 
to  the  door." 

This  speech,  which  had  no  appearance  of  exaggeration,  had 
the  effect  of  adding  considerably  to  the  state  of  neglect  and 
shabbiness  that  disfigured  the  home  of  the  'Eochefides.  Ere 
long  Arthur  had  transplanted  his  existence  and  his  pleasures 
to  Madame  Schontz's  lodgings,  and  found  it  answer;  for  by 
the  end  of  three  years  he  had  four  hundred  thousand  francs  to 
invest. 

Then  began  the  third  phase.  Madame  Schontz  became  the 
kindest  of  mothers  to  Arthur's  son;  she  fetched  him  from 
school  and  took  him  back  herself;  she  loaded  him  with  pres- 
ents, sweetmeats,  and  pocket  money ;  and  the  child,  who 
adored  her,  called  her  his  "little  mamma."  She  advised  her 
Arthur  in  the  management  of  his  money-matters,  making  him 
buy  consols  at  the  fall  before  the  famous  treaty  of  London, 


290  BEATRIX 

which  led  to  the  overthrow  of  the  Ministry  on  the  1st  of 
March.  Arthur  made  two  hundred  thousand  francs,  and 
Aurelie  did  not  ask  for  a  sou.  Eochefide,  being  a  gen- 
tleman, invested  his  six  hundred  thousand  francs  in  Bank 
bills,  half  of  them  in  the  name  of  Mademoiselle  Josephine 
Schiltz. 

A  small  house,  rented  in  the  Eue  de  la  Bruyere,  was  placed 
in  the  hands  of  Grindot,  that  great  architect  on  a  small  scale, 
with  instructions  to  make  it  a  delicious  jewel  case.  Thence- 
forth Eochefide  left  everything  in  the  hands  of  Madame 
Schontz,  who  received  the  dividends  and  paid  the  bills.  Thus 
installed  in  his  wife's  place,  she  justified  him  by  making  her 
Gros  Papa  happier  than  ever.  She  understood  his  whims, 
and  satisfied  them,  as  Madame  de  Pompadour  humored  the 
fancies  of  Louis  XV.  She  was,  in  fact,  maitresse  en  titre — ab- 
solute mistress. 

She  now  allowed  herself  to  patronize  certain  charming 
young  men,  artists  and  literary  youths  newly  born  to  glory, 
who  disowned  the  ancients  and  the  moderns  alike,  and  tried 
to  achieve  a  great  reputation  by  achieving  nothing  else. 
Madame  Schontz's  conduct,  a  master-work  of  tactics,  shows 
her  superior  intelligence.  In  the  first  place,  a  party  of  ten 
or  twelve  young  men  amused  Arthur,  supplied  him  with  witty 
sayings  and  shrewd  opinions  on  every  subject,  and  never  cast 
any  doubt  on  the  fidelity  of  the  mistress  of  the  house ;  in  the 
second  place,  they  looked  up  to  her  as  a  highly  intellectual 
woman.  These  living  advertisements,  these  walking  "puffs," 
reported  that  Madame  Schontz  was  the  most  charming  woman 
to  be  found  on  the  borderland  dividing  the  Thirteenth  Ar- 
rondissement  from  the  other  twelve. 

Her  rivals,  Suzanne  Gaillard,  who  since  1838  had  the  ad- 
vantage over  her  of  being  a  legitimately  married  wife,  Fanny 
Beaupre,  Mariette,  and  Antonia,  spread  more  than  scandalous 
reports  as  to  the  beauty  of  these  youths  and  the  kindness  with 
which  Monsieur  de  Eochefide  welcomed  them.  Madame 
Schontz,  who  could,  she  declared,  give  these  ladies  a  start  of 
three  bad  jokes  and  beat  them,  exclaimed  one  evening,  at  a 


BEATRIX  291 

supper  given  by  Florine  after  an  opera,  when  she  had  set 
forth  to  them  her  good  fortune  and  her  success,  "Do  thou 
likewise !"  a  retort  which  had  been  remembered  against  her. 
At  this  stage  of  her  career  Madame  Schontz  got  the  racers 
sold,  in  deference  to  certain  considerations,  which  she  owed 
no  doubt  to  the  critical  acumen  of  Claude  Vignon,  a  frequent 
visitor. 

"I  couM  quite  understand,"  said  she  one  day,  after  lashing 
the  horses  with  her  tongue,  "that  princes  and  rich  men  should 
take  horse-breeding  to  heart,  but  for  the  good  of  the  country, 
and  not  for  the  childish  satisfaction  of  a  gambler's  vanity. 
If  you  had  stud  stables  on  your  estates  and  could  breed  a 
thousand  or  twelve  hundred  horses,  if  each  owner  sent  the 
best  horse  in  his  stable,  and  if  every  breeder  in  France  and 
Navarre  should  compete  every  time,  it  would  be  a  great  and 
fine  thing;  but  you  buy  a  single  horse,  as  the  manager  of  a 
theatre  engages  his  artists,  you  reduce  an  institution  to  the 
level  of  a  game,  you  have  a  Bourse  for  legs  as  you  have  a 
Bourse  for  shares.  It  is  degrading.  Would  you  spend  sixty  thou- 
sand francs  to  see  in  the  papers — 'Monsieur  de  Rochefide's 
Lelia  beat  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Rhetore's  Fleur-de-Genet  by  a 

length '  Why,  you  had  better  give  the  money  to  a  poet 

who  will  hand  you  down  to  immortality  in  verse  or  in  prose, 
like  the  late  lamented  Montyon !" 

By  dint  of  such  goading  the  Marquis  was  brought  to  see 
the  hollowness  of  the  turf ;  he  saved  his  sixty  thousand  francs ; 
and  next  year  Madame  Schontz  could  say  to  him :  "I  cost  you 
nothing  now,  Arthur." 

Many  rich  men  envied  the  Marquis  his  Aurelie,  and  tried  to 
win  her  from  him ;  but,  like  the  Russian  Prince,  they  wasted 
their  old  age. 

"Listen  to  me,  my  dear  fellow,"  she  had  said  a  fortnight 
ago  to  Finot,  now  a  very  rich  man,  "I  know  that  Rochefide 
would  forgive  me  for  a  little  flirtation  if  I  really  fell  in  love 
with  another  man,  but  no  woman  would  give  up  a  marquis 
who  is  such  a  thorough  good  fellow  to  take  up  with  a  parvenu 
like  you.  You  would  never  keep  me  in  such  a  position  as 


292  BEATRIX 

Arthur  has  placed  me  in.  He  has  made  me  all  but  his  wife, 
and  half  a  lady,  and  you  could  never  do  as  much  for  me  even 
if  you  married  me." 

This  was  the  last  rivet  that  held  the  fortunate  slave.  The 
speech  reached  those  absent  ears  for  which  it  was  intended. 

Thus  began  the  fourth  phase,  that  of  habit,  the  crowning 
victory  of  the  plan  of  campaign  which  enables  a  woman  of  this 
stamp  to  say  of  the  man,  "I  have  him  safe !"  Eochefide,  who 
had  just  bought  a  pretty  house  in  the  name  of  Mademoiselle 
Josephine  Schiltz,  a  mere  trifle  of  eighty  thousand  francs, 
had,  at  the  time  when  the  Duchess  was  laying  her  plans,  come 
to  the  point  when  he  was  vain  of  his  mistress,  calling  her 
Ninon  II.,  and  boasting  of  her  strict  honesty,  her  excellent 
manners,  her  information,  and  wit.  He  had  concentrated 
his  good  and  bad  qualities,  his  tastes  and  pleasures  all  in 
Madame  Schontz,  and  had  reached  that  stage  of  life  when 
from  weariness,  indifference,  or  philosophy  a  man  changes  no 
more,  but  is  faithful  to  his  wife  or  his  mistress. 

The  importance  to  which  Madame  Schontz  had  risen  in  five 
years  may  be  understood  when  it  is  said  that  to  be  introduced 
to  her  a  man  had  to  be  mentioned  to  her  some  time  in  ad- 
vance. She  had  refused  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  certain 
tiresome  rich  men,  and  others  of  fly-blown  reputations;  she 
made  no  exceptions  to"  this  strict  rule  but  in  the  case  of  certain 
great  aristocratic  names. 

"They  have  a  right  to  be  stupid/'  she  would  say,  "because 
they  are  swells." 

Ostensibly  she  possessed  the  three  hundred  thousand  francs 
that  Eochende  had  given  her,  and  that  a  thorough  good  fellow, 
a  stockbroker  named  Gobenheim — the  only  stockbroker  she 
allowed  in  her  house — managed  for  her ;  but  she  also  managed 
for  herself  a  little  private  fortune  of  two  hundred  thousand 
francs,  formed  of  her  savings  on  her  house  allowance  for  three 
years,  by  constantly  buying  and  selling  with  the  three  hundred 
thousand  francs,  which  were  all  she  would  ever  confess  to. 

"The  more  you  make,  the  less  you  seem  to  have,"  Goben- 
heim remarked  one  day. 


BEATRIX  293 

"Water  is  so  dear !"  said  she. 

This  unrevealed  store  was  increased  by  the  jewelry  and  dia- 
monds which  Aurelie  would  wear  for  a  month  and  then  sell, 
and  by  money  given  her  for  fancies  she  had  forgotten.  When 
she  heard  herself  called  rich,  Madame  Schontz  would  reply 
that,  at  present  rates,  three  hundred  thousand  francs  brought 
in  twelve  thousand  francs,  and  that  she  had  spent  it  all  in  the 
hard  times  of  her  life  when  Lousteau  had  been  her  lover. 

Such  method  showed  a  plan;  and  Madame  Schontz,  you 
may  be  sure,  had  a  plan.  For  the  last  two  years  she  had  been 
jealous  of  Madame  du  Bruel,  and  the  desire  to  be  married 
at  the  mairie  and  in  church  gnawed  at  her  heart.  Every  social 
grade  has  its  forbidden  fruit,  some  little  thing  exaggerated  by 
desire,  till  it  seems  as  weighty  as  the  globe.  This  ambition 
had,  of  course,  its  duplicate  in  the  ambition  of  a  second 
Arthur,  whom  watchfulness  had  entirely  failed  to  discover. 
Bixiou  would  have  it  that  the  favorite  was  Leon  de  Lora ;  the 
painter  believed  that  it  was  Bixiou,  who  was  now  past  forty, 
and  should  be  thinking  of  settling.  Suspicion  also  fell  on 
Victor  de  Vernisset,  a  young  poet  of  the  Canalis  school,  whose 
passion  for  Madame  Schontz  was  a  perfect  madness;  while 
the  poet  accused  Stidmann,  a  sculptor,  of  being  his  favored 
rival.  This  artist,  a  very  good-looking  young  man,  worked 
for  goldsmiths,  for  bronze  dealers,  and  jewelers;  he  dreamed 
of  being  a  Benvenuto  Cellini.  Claude  Vignon,  the  young 
Comte  de  la  Palferine,  Gobenheim,  Vermanton,  a  cynic  phil- 
osopher, and  other  frequenters  of  this  lively  salon  were  sus- 
pected by  turns,  but  all  acquitted.  No  one  was  a  match  for 
Madame  Schontz,  not  even  Kochefide,  who  fancied  she  had  a 
weakness  for  la  Palferine,  a  clever  youth;  she  was,  in  fact, 
virtuous  in  her  own  interests,  and  thought  only  of  making  a 
good  match. 

Only  one  man  of  equivocal  repute  was  ever  to  be  seen  at 
Madame  Schontz's,  and  that  was  Couture,  who  had  more  than 
once  been  howled  at  on  the  Bourse;  but  Couture  was  one  of 
Madame  Schontz's  oldest  friends,  and  she  alone  remained 


294  BEATRIX 

faithful  to  him.  The  false  alarm  of  1840  swept  away  this 
speculator's  last  capital;  he  had  trusted  to  the  1st  of  March 
Ministry;  Aurelie,  seeing  that  luck  was  against  him,  made 
Eochefide  play  for  the  other  side.  It  was  she  who  spoke  of 
the  last  overthrow  of  this  inventor  of  premiums  and  joint- 
stock  companies  as  a  Decouture  (unripping  a  rip). 

Couture,  delighted  to  find  a  knife  and  fork  laid  for  him  at 
Aurelie's,  and  getting  from  Finot — the  cleverest,  or  perhaps 
the  luckiest  of  parvenus — a  few  thousand- franc  notes  now  and 
then,  was  the  only  man  shrewd  enough  to  offer  his  name  to 
Madame  Schontz,  who  studied  him  to  ascertain  whether  this 
bold  speculator  would  have  strength  enough  to  make  a  po- 
litical career  for  himself,  and  gratitude  enough  not  to  desert 
his  wife.  A  man  of  about  forty-three  years  old,  and  worn  for 
his  age,  Couture  did  not  redeem  the  ill-repute  of  his  name  by 
his  birth;  he  had  little  to  say  of  his  progenitors.  Madame 
Schontz  was  lamenting  the  rarity  of  men  of  business  capacity, 
when  one  day  Couture  himself  introduced  to  her  a  provincial 
gentleman  who  happened  to  be  provided  with  the  -two  handles 
by  which  women  hold  this  sort  of  pitcher  when  they  mean 
not  to  drop  it. 

A  sketch  of  this  personage  will  be  a  portrait  of  a  certain 
type  of  young  man  of  the  day.  A  digression  will,  in  this  case, 
be  history. 

In  1838,  Fabien  du  Ronceret,  the  son  of  a  President  of  the 
Chamber  at  the  King's  Court  of  Caen,  having  lost  his  father 
about  a  year  before,  came  from  Alengon,  throwing  up  his  ap- 
pointment as  magistrate,  in  which,  as  he  said,  his  father  had 
made  him  waste  his  time,  and  settled  in  Paris.  His  intention 
now  was  to  get  on  in  the  world  by  cutting  a  dash,  a  Norman 
scheme  somewhat  difficult  of  accomplishment,  since  he  had 
scarcely  eight  thousand  francs  a  year,  his  mother  still  being 
alive,  and  enjoying  the  life-interest  of  some  fine  house  prop- 
erty in  the  heart  of  Alengon.  This  youth  had  already,  in  the 
course  of  various  visits  to  Paris,  tried  his  foot  on  the  tight 
rope ;  he  had  discerned  the  weak  point  of  the  social  stucco  res- 
toration of  1830,  and  meant  to  work  on  it  for  his  own  profit, 


BEATRIX  295 

following  the  lead  of  the  sharpers  of  the  middle  class.  To 
explain  this,  we  must  glance  at  one  of  the  results  of  the  new 
state  of  things. 

Modern  notions  of  equality,  which  in  our  day  have  assumed 
such  extravagant  proportions,  have  inevitably  developed  in 
private  life — in  a  parallel  line  with  political  life — pride,  con- 
ceit, and  vanity,  the  three  grand  divisions  of  the  social  I. 
Fools  wish  to  pass  for  clever  men,  clever  men  want  to  be  men 
of  talent,  men  of  talent  expect  to  be  treated  as  geniuses :  as  to 
the  geniuses,  they  are  more  reasonable;  they  consent  to  be 
regarded  as  no  more  than  demi-gods.  This  tendency  of  the 
spirit  of  the  time,  which  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  makes 
the  manufacturer  jealous  of  the  statesman,  and  the  adminis- 
trator jealous  of  the  poet,  prompts  fools  to  run  down  clever 
men,  clever  men  to  run  down  men  of  talent,  men  of  talent  to 
run  down  those  who  are  a  few  inches  higher  than  themselves, 
and  the  demi-gods  to  threaten  institutions,  the  throne  itself, 
in  short,  everything  and  everybody  that  does  not  worship 
them  unconditionally. 

As  soon  as  a  nation  is  so  impolitic  as  to  overthrow  recog- 
nized social  superiority,  it  opens  the  sluice-gates,  through 
which  rushes  forthwith  a  torrent  of  second-rate  ambitions, 
the  least  of  which  would  fain  be  first.  According  to  the  demo- 
crats, its  aristocracy  was  a  disease,  but  a  definite  and  circum- 
scribed disease;  it  has  exchanged  this  for  ten  armed  and  con- 
tending aristocracies,  the  worst  possible  state  of  things.  To 
proclaim  the  equality  of  all  is  to  declare  the  rights  of  the 
envious.  We  are  enjoying  now  the  Saturnalia  of  the  Revolu- 
tion transferred  to  the  apparently  peaceful  sphere  of  intelli- 
gence, industry,  and  politics;  it  seems  as  though  the  reputa- 
tions earned  by.  hard  work,  good  service,  and  talent  were  a 
privilege  granted  at  the  expense  of  the  masses.  The  agrarian 
law  will  ere  long  be  extended  to  the  field  of  glory. 

Thus,  at  no  time  have  men  demanded  public  recognition 
on  more  puerile  grounds.  They  must  be  remarked  at  any  cost 
for  an  affectation  of  devotion  to  the  cause  of  Poland,  to  the 
penitential  system,  to  the  future  prospects  of  released  convicts, 


296  BEATRIX 

to  that  of  small  rogues  under  or  over  the  age  of  twelve,  to  any 
kind  of  social  quackery.  These  various  manias  give  rise  to 
spurious  dignities — Presidents,  Vice-presidents,  and  Secre- 
taries of  Societies,  which,  in  Paris,  outnumber  the  social  ques- 
tions to  be  solved.  Society  on  a  grand  scale  has  been  demol- 
ished to  make  way  for  a  thousand  small  ones  in  the  image  of 
the  dead  one. 

Do  not  all  these  parasitical  organisms  point  to  decomposi- 
tion ?  Are  they  not  the  worms  swarming  in  the  carcase  ?  All 
these  social  bodies  are  the  daughters  of  one  mother — Vanity. 
Not  thus  does  Catholic  charity  act,  or  true  benevolence ;  these 
study  disease  while  healing  its  sores,  and  do  not  speechify  in 
public  on  morbid  symptoms  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  talking. 

Fabien  du  Ronceret,  without  being  a  superior  man,  had 
divined,  by  the  exercise  of  that  acquisitive  spirit  peculiar  to 
the  Norman  race,  all  the  advantage  he  might  take  of  this 
public  distemper.  Each  age  has  its  characteristic,  which 
clever  men  trade  on.  Fabien's  only  aim  was  to  get  himself 
talked  about. 

"My  dear  fellow,  a  man  must  make  his  name  known  if  he 
wants  to  get  on/'  said  he  as  he  left,  to  du  Bousquier,  a  friend 
of  his  father's,  and  the  King  of  Alengon.  "In  six  months  I 
shall  be  better  known  than  you." 

This  was  how  Fabien  interpreted  the  spirit  of  his  time ;  he 
did  not  rule  it,  he  obeyed  it. 

He  had  first  appeared  in  bohemia,  a  district  of  the  moral 
topography  of  Paris  (see  A  Prince  of  Bohemia),  and  was 
known  as  "The  Heir,"  in  consequence  of  a  certain  premedi- 
tated parade  of  extravagance.  Du  Ronceret  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  Couture's  follies  in  behalf  of  pretty  Madame  Cadine — 
one  of  the  newer  actresses,  who  was  considered  extremely 
clever  at  the  second-class  theatres — for  whom  he  had  furnished 
a  charming  ground-floor  apartment  with  a  garden,  in  the  Rue 
Blanche. 

This  was  the  way  in  which  the  men  made  acquaintance. 
The  Norman,  in  search  of  ready-made  luxury,  bought  the 
furniture  from  Couture,  with  all  the  decorative  fixtures  he 


BEATRIX  297 

could  not  remove  from  the  rooms,  a  garden  room  for  smoking 
in,  with  a  veranda  built  of  rustic  woodwork,  hung  with  In- 
dian matting,  and  decorated  with  pottery,  to  get  to  the 
smoking-room  in  rainy  weather.  When  the  Heir  was  compli- 
mented on  his  rooms,  he  called  them  his  den.  The  provincial 
took  care  not  to  mention  that  Grindot  the  architect  had  lav- 
ished all  his  art  there,  as  had  Stidmann  on  the  carvings,  and 
Leon  de  Lora  on  the  paintings ;  for  his  greatest  fault  was  that 
form  of  conceit  which  goes  so  far  as  lying  with  a  view  to  self- 
glorification. 

The  Heir  put  the  finishing  touch  to  this  splendor  by  build- 
ing a  conservatory  against  a  south  wall,  not  because  he  loved 
flowers,  but  because  he  meant  to  attack  public  repute  by  means 
of  horticulture.  At  this  moment  he  had  almost  attained  his 
end.  As  Vice-president  of  some  gardening  society,  under  the 
presidency  of  the  Due  de  Vissembourg,  brother  of  the  Prince 
de  Chiavari,  the  younger  son  of  the  late  Marechal  Vernon,  he 
had  been  able  to  decorate  the  vice-presidential  coat  with  the 
ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  after  an  exhibition  of  horticul- 
tural produce,  which  he  opened  by  an  address  given  out  as  his 
own,  but  purchased  of  Lousteau  for  five  hundred  francs.  He 
was  conspicuous  by  wearing  a  flower  given  to  him  by  old 
Blondet  of  Alenc,on,  $mile  Blondet's  father,  which  he  said 
had  bloomed  in  his  conservatory. 

But  this  triumph  was  nothing.  Du  Eonceret,  who  was 
anxious  to  pass  as  a  man  of  superior  intelligence,  had  schemed 
to  ally  himself  with  a  set  of  famous  men,  to  shine  by  a  re- 
flected light,  a  plan  very  difficult  to  carry  out  on  the  basis  of 
an  income  of  eight  thousand  francs.  And,  in  fact,  he  had 
looked  by  turns,  but  in  vain,  to  Bixiou,  Stidmann,  and  Leon 
de  Lora  to  introduce  him  to  Madame  Schontz,  so  as  to  be- 
come a  member  of  that  menagerie  of  lions  of  every  degree. 
Then  he  dined  Couture  so  often,  that  Couture  proved  cate- 
gorically to  Madame  Schontz  that  she  had  to  admit  such  an 
eccentric  specimen,  were  it  only  to  secure  him  as  one  of  those 
graceful  unpaid  messengers  whom  house-mistresses  are  glad 
to  employ  on  the  errands  for  which  servants  are  unsuited. 


298  BEATRIX 

By  the  end  of  the  third  evening  Madame  Schontz  knew 
Fabien  through  and  through,  and  said  to  herself,  "If  Couture 
does  not  serve  my  turn,  I  am  perfectly  certain  of  this  man. 
My  future  life  runs  on  wheels." 

So  this  simpleton,  laughed  at  by  every  one,  was  the  man  of 
her  choice;  but  with  a  deliberate  purpose  which  made  the 
preference  an  insult,  and  the  choice  was  never  suspected  from 
its  utter  improbability.  Madame  Schontz  turned  Fabien's 
brain  by  stolen  smiles,  by  little  scenes  on  the  threshold  when 
she  saw  him  out  the  last,  if  Monsieur  de  Kochefide  spent  the 
evening  there.  She  constantly  invited  Fabien  to  be  the  third 
with  Arthur  in  her  box  at  the  Italiens,  or  at  first-night  per- 
formances; excusing  herself  by  saying  that  he  had  done  her 
this  or  that  service,  and  that  she  had  no  other  way  of  return- 
ing it. 

Men  have  a  rivalry  of  conceit  among  themselves — in  com- 
mon indeed  with  women — in  their  desire  to  be  loved  for  them- 
selves. Hence  of  all  nattering  attachments,  none  is  more 
highly  valued  than  that  of  a  Madame  Schontz  for  the  man  she 
makes  the  object  of  her  heart's  affections  in  contrast  with  the 
other  kind  of  love.  Such  a  woman  as  Madame  Schontz,  who 
played  at  being  a  fine  lady,  and  who  was  in  truth  a  very  su- 
perior woman,  was,  as  she  could  not  fail  to  be,  a  subject  of 
pride  to  Fabien,  who  fell  so  desperately  in  love  with  her  that 
he  never  appeared  in  her  presence  but  in  full  dress,  patent 
leather  boots,  lemon-colored  gloves,  an  embroidered  and 
frilled  shirt,  an  endless  variety  of  waistcoats,  in  short,  every 
external  symptom  of  the  sinceicst  adoration. 

A  month  before  the  conference  between  the  Duchess  and  the 
Abbe,  Madame  Schontz  had  confided  the  secret  of  her  birth 
and  her  real  name  to  Fabien,  who  could  not  understand  the 
object  of  this  disclosure.  A  fortnight  later  Madame  Schontz, 
puzzled  by  the  Norman's  lack  of  comprehension,  exclaimed  to 
herself : 

"Good  heavens,  what  an  idiot  I  am !  Why,  he  believes  that 
I  am  in  love  with  him  !" 

So  then  she  took  him  out  for  a  drive  in  the  Bois,  in  her 


BEATRIX  299 

carriage,  for  she  had  had  a  low  phaeton  with  a  pair  of  horses 
for  a  year  past. 

In  the  course  of  this  public  tete-a-tete  she  discussed  the 
question  of  her  ultimate  fate,  and  explained  that  she  wished 
to  get  married. 

"I  have  seven  hundred  thousand  francs,"  said  she;  "and  I 
may  confess  to  you  that  if  I  could  meet  with  a  man  of  great 
ambition,  who  could  understand  me  thoroughly,  I  would 
change  my  condition ;  for,  do  you  know,  the  dream  of  my  life 
is  to  be  a  good  citizen's  wife,  connected  with  a  respectable 
family,  and  to  make  my  husband  and  children  all  very  happy." 

The  Norman  was  content  to  be  a  favorite  with  Madame 
Schontz ;  but  to  marry  her  seemed  madness  beyond  discussion 
to  a  bachelor  of  eight-and-thirty,  of  whom  the  Eevolution  of 
July  had  made  a  Judge.  Seeing  his  hesitation,  Madame 
Schontz  made  the  Heir  a  butt  for  the  arrows  of  her  wit,  her 
irony,  and  her  scorn,  and  turned  to  Couture.  Within  a  week 
the  speculator,  tempted  by  a  hint  of  her  savings,  offered  her 
his  hand,  his  heart,  and  his  future  prospects — all  three  of 
equal  value. 

Madame  Schontz's  manoeuvres  had  reached  this  stage  when 
Madame  de  Grandlieu  began  to  inquire  as  to  the  manners  and 
customs  of  this  Beatrix  of  the  Rue  Saint-Georges. 

Following  the  Abbe  Brossette's  advice,  the  Duchess  begged 
the  Marquis  d'Ajuda  to  bring  to  her  house  that  prince  of 
political  jugglers,  the  famous  Comte  de  Trailles,  the  Arch- 
duke of  bohemia.  and  the  youngest  of  the  young,  though  he 
was  now  fifty.  Monsieur  d'Ajuda  arranged  to  dine  with 
Maxime  at  the  club  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune,  and  proposed  that 
they  should  go  on  together  to  play  dummy  whist  with  the  Due 
de  Grandlieu,  who,  having  had  an  attack  of  the  gout  before 
dinner,  would  be  alone.  Though  the  Duke's  son-in-law,  the 
Duchess'  cousin,  had  every  right  to  introduce  him  into  a 
house  where  he  had  never  yet  set  foot,  Maxime  de  Trailles  was 
under  no  misapprehension  as  to  the  invitation  thus  conveyed ; 
he  concluded  that  either  the  Duke  or  the  Duchess  wanted  to 


300  BEATRIX 

make  use  of  him.  A  not  unimportant  feature  of  the  time  is 
the  club  life,  where  men  gamble  with  others  whom  they  would 
never  receive  in  their  own  houses. 

The  Duke  so  far  honored  Maxime  as  to  confess  that  he  was 
ill;  after  fifteen  games  of  whist  he  went  to  bed,  leaving  his 
wife  with  Maxime  and  d'Ajuda.  The  Duchess,  supported  by 
the  Marquis,  explained  her  plans  to  Monsieur  de  Trailles,  and 
asked  his  assistance,  while  seeming  only  to  ask  his  advice. 
Maxime  listened  to  the  end  without  saying  anything  decisive, 
and  would  not  speak  till  the  Duchess  had  asked  him  point- 
blank  to  help  her. 

"I  quite  understand  the  matter,  madame,"  said  he  after 
giving  her  one  of  those  looks — keen,  astute,  and  comprehen- 
sive—by which  these  old  hands  can  compromise  their  allies. 
"D'Ajuda  will  tell  you  that  I,  if  any  one  in  Paris,  can  manage 
this  double  business,  without  your  appearing  in  it,  without  its 
being  known  even  that  I  have  been  here  this  evening.  But, 
first  of  all,  we  must  settle  the  Preliminaries  of  Leoben.  What 
do  you  propose  to  sacrifice  for  this  end  ?" 

"Everything  that  is  required." 

"Very  good,  Madame  la  Duchesse.  Then  as  the  reward 
of  my  services,  you  will  do  me  the  honor  of  receiving  here  and 
giving  your  countenance  to  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Trailles  ?" 

"Are  you  married  ?"  exclaimed  d'Ajuda. 

"I  am  going  to  be  married  in  a  fortnight  to  the  only 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  family,  but  to  the  last  degree  middle 
class  !  It  is  a  sacrifice  to  opinion ;  I  am  adopting  the  strictest 
principles  of  my  government.  I  am  casting  my  old  skin. 

"So  you  will  understand,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  how  im- 
portant for  me  it  would  be  that  you  and  your  family  should 
take  up  my  wife.  I  am  quite  certain  to  be  elected  deputy 
when  my  father-in-law  retires  from  his  post,  as  he  intends 
doing,  and  I  have  been  promised  a  diplomatic  appointment 
that  befits  my  new  fortune. — I  cannot  see  why  my  wife  should 
not  be  as  well  received  as  Madame  de  Portenduere  in  a  society 
of  young  wives  where  such  stars  are  to  be  seen  as  Mesdames  de 


BEATRIX  301 

la  Bastie,  Georges  de  Maufrigneuse,  de  1'Estorade,  du  Guenic, 
d'Ajuda,  de  Restaud,  de  Rastignac,  and  de  Vandenesse.  My 
wife  is  pretty,  and  I  will  undertake  to  wake  her  up. 

"Does  this  meet  your  views,  Madame  la  Duchesse  ? 

"You  are  a  religious  woman;  and  if  you  say  yes,  your 
promise,  which  I  know  will  be  sacred,  will  help  me  immensely 
in  my  changed  life.  And  it  will  be  another  good  action! — 
Alas,  I  have  long  been  the  chief  of  a  rascally  crew ;  but  I  want 
to  be  quit  of  all  that.  After  all,  our  arms  are  good :  Azure,  a 
chimera  or,  spouting  fire,  armed  gules,  scaled  vert;  a  chief 
counter  ermine;  granted  by  Francis  I.,  who  thought  it  de- 
sirable to  give  a  patent  of  nobility  to  Louis  XL's  groom  of  the 
chambers — and  we  have  been  counts  since  the  time  of 
Catherine  de  Medicis." 

"I  will  receive  and  introduce  your  wife/'  said  the  Duchess 
solemnly,  "and  my  family  shall  never  turn  their  back  on  her, 
I  give  you  my  word." 

"Oh,  Madame  la  Duchesse,"  exclaimed  Maxime,  visibly 
touched,  "if  Monsieur  le  Due  will  also  condescend  to  treat  me 
kindly,  I  promise  you  on  my  part  to  make  your  plan  succeed 
with  no  great  loss  to  yourself. — But,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
pause,  "you  must  pledge  yourself  to  obey  my  instructions. 
.  .  .  This  is  the  last  intrigue  of  my  bachelor  life ;  it  must 
be  carried  through  with  all  the  more  care  because  it  is  a  good 
action,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Obey?"  said  the  Duchess.  "But  must  I  appear  in  all 
this?" 

"Indeed,  madame,  I  will  not  compromise  you,"  cried 
Maxime,  "and  I  respect  you  too  implicitly  to  ask  for  security. 
You  have  only  to  follow  my  advice.  Thus,  for  instance,  du 
Guenic  must  be  carried  off  by  his  wife  like  a  sacred  object, 
and  kept  away  for  two  years;  she  must  take  him  to  see 
Switzerland,  Italy,  Germany,  the  more  strange  lands  the 
better " 

"Ah,  that  answers  a  fear  expressed  by  my  director,"  ex- 
claimed the  Duchess  guilelessly,  as  she  remembered  the  Abbe 
Brossette's  judicious  observation.  Maxime  and  d'Ajuda  could 


302  BEATRIX 

not  help  smiling  at  the  idea  of  this  coincidence  of  heaven  and 
hell. 

"To  prevent  Madame  de  Eochefide  from  ever  seeing  Calyste 
again/'  she  added,  "we  will  all  travel,  Juste  and  his  wife, 
Calyste  and  Sabine,  and  I.  I  will  leave  Clotilde  with  her 
father— 

"Do  not  let  us  shout  'Victory'  just  yet,  madame,"  said 
Maxime.  "I  foresee  immense  difficulties;  I  shall  conquer 
them,  no  doubt.  Your  esteem  and  favor  are  a  prize  for  which 
I  will  plunge  through  much  dirt ;  but  it  will  be " 

"Dirt!"  said  the  Duchess,  interrupting  the.  modern 
condottiere  with  a  face  equally  expressive  of  disgust  and  sur- 
prise. 

"Ay,  and  you  will  have  to  step  in  it,  madame,  since  I  act 
for  you.  Are  you  really  so  ignorant  of  the  pitch  of  blindness 
to  which  Madame  de  Eochefide  has  brought  your  son-in-law  ? 
I  know  it,  through  Nathan  and  Canalis,  between  whom  she 
was  hesitating  when  Calyste  threw  himself  into  that  lioness' 
maw.  Beatrix  has  made  the  noble  Breton  believe  that  she 
never  loved  any  one  but  him,  that  she  is  virtuous,  that  her 
attachment  to  Conti  was  of  the  head  only,  and  that  her  heart 
and  the  rest  had  very  little  to  do  with  it — a  musical  passion,  in 
short.  As  to  Eochefide,  that  was  a  matter  of  duty. 

"So,  you  understand,  she  is  virginal.  And  she  proves  it  by 
forgetting  her  son;  for  a  year  past  she  has  not  made  the 
smallest  attempt  to  see  him.  The  little  Count  is,  in  point  of 
fact,  nearly  twelve  years  old,  and  he  has  found  a  mother  in 
Madame  Schontz;  motherhood  is  the  mania,  as  you  know,  of 
women  of  that  stamp. 

"Du  Guenic  would  be  cut  in  pieces,  and  let  his  wife  be  cut 
in  pieces,  for  Beatrix.  And  do  you  suppose  that  it  is  easy  to 
drag  a  man  back  from  the  depths  of  the  abyss  of  credulity? 
Why,  madame,  Shakespeare's  lago  would  waste  all  his  hand- 
kerchiefs in  such  a  task.  It  is  generally  imagined  that 
Othello,  his  younger  brother  Orosmane,  and  Saint-Preux,  and 
Eene,  and  Werther,  and  other  lovers  who  are  famous,  typify 
love !  Their  icy-hearted  creators  never  knew  what  was  meant 


BEATRIX  303 

by  an  absorbing  passion,  Moliere  alone  had  a  suspicion  of  it. — 
Love,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  is  not  an  attachment  to  a  noble 
woman,  to  a  Clarissa ;  a  great  achievement  that,  on  my  word ! 
— Love  is  to  say  to  one's  self:  'The  woman  I  worship  is  a 
wretch ;  she  is  deceiving  me,  she  will  deceive  me  again,  she  is 
an  old  hand,  she  smells  of  the  burning  pit  F — and  to  fly  to  her, 
to  find  the  blue  of  heaven,  the  flowers  of  Paradise.  That  is 
how  Moliere  loved,  and  how  we  love,  we  scamps  and  rips; 
for  I  can  cry  at  the  great  scene  in  Arnolphe!  That  is  how 
your  son-in-law  loves  Beatrix  ! 

"I  shall  have  some  difficulty  in  getting  Rochefide  from 
Madame  Schontz;  however,  Madame  Schontz  can,  no  doubt, 
be  got  to  abet  us ;  I  will  study  her  household.  As  to  Calyste 
and  Beatrix,  it  will  need  an  axe  to  divide  them,  treachery  of 
the  best  quality,  infamy  so  base  that  your  virtuous  imagina- 
tion could  not  go  so  low  unless  your  director  held  your  hand. 
—You  have  asked  for  the  impossible,  you  shall  have  it.  Still, 
in  spite  of  my  determination  to  employ  the  sword  and  fire,  I 
cannot  absolutely  pledge  myself  to  success.  I  know  lovers 
who  do  not  shrink  under  the  most  entire  disenchantment. 
You  are  too  virtuous  to  understand  the  power  of  women  who 
have  no  virtue. " 

"Do  not  attempt  these  infamies  till  I  shall  have  consulted 
the  Abbe  Brossette,  to  know  how  far  I  am  involved  in  them," 
cried  the  Duchess,  with  an  artlessness  that  revealed  how  self- 
ish religion  can  be. 

"You  know  nothing  about  it,  my  dear  mother,"  said  the 
Marquis  d'Ajtida. 

On  the  steps,  while  waiting  for  Ajuda's  carriage  to  come 
up,  the  Marquis  said  to  Maxime : 

"You  have  frightened  our  good  Duchess." 

"But  she  has  no  idea  of  the  difficulty  of  the  thing  she  wants 
done ! — Are  we  going  to  the  Jockey  Club  ?  Rochefide  must 
ask  me  to  dine  to-morrow  at  Schontz's  rooms;  in  the  course 
of  to-night  my  plans  will  be  laid,  and  I  shall  have  chosen  the 
pawns  in  my  chessboard  that  are  to  move  in  the  game  I  mean 
to  play.  In  the  days  of  her  splendor  Beatrix  would  have 


304  BEATRIX 

nothing  to  say  to  me;  I  will  settle  accounts  with  her,  and 
avenge  your  sister-in-law  so  cruelly,  that  perhaps  she  will 
think  I  have  overdone  it." 

On  the  following  day  Rochefide  told  Madame  Schontz  that 
Maxime  de  Trailles  was  coming  to  dinner.  This  was  to 
warn  her  to  display  the  utmost  luxury,  and  prepare  the  very 
best  fare  for  this  distinguished  connoisseur,  who  was  the  terror 
of  every  woman  of  Madame  Schontz's  class;  and  she  gave  as 
much  care  to  her  toilet  as  to  arranging  her  house  in  a 
fitting  way  to  receive  the  great  man. 

In  Paris  there  are  almost  as  many  royal  heads  as  there  are 
different  arts  or  special  sciences,  faculties,  or  professions ;  the 
best  of  those  who  exercise  each  has  a  royal  dignity  proper  to 
himself;  he  is  revered  and  respected  by  his  peers,  who  know 
the  difficulties  of  his  work,  and  admire  unreservedly  the  man 
who  can  defy  them.  In  the  eyes  of  the  corps  de  ballet  and 
courtesans  Maxime  was  an  extremely  powerful  and  capable 
man,  for  he  had  succeeded  in  being  immensely  loved.  He 
was  admired  by  everybody  who  knew  how  hard  it  is  to  live  in 
Paris  on  decent  terms  with  your  creditors;  and  he  had  never 
had  any  rival  in  elegance,  demeanor,  and  wit  but  the  famous 
de  Marsay,  who  had  employed  him  on  political  missions. 
This  is  enough  to  account  for  his  interview  with  the  Duchess, 
his  influence  over  Madame  Schontz,  and  the  authority  of  his 
tone  in  a  conference  he  intended  to  hold  on  the  Boulevard  des 
Italiens  with  a  young  man,  who  was  already  famous  though- 
recently  introduced  to  the  bohemia  of  Paris. 

As  he  rose  next  morning,  Maxime  de  Trailles  heard  Finot 
announced,  to  whom  he  had  sent  the  night  before ;  he  begged 
him  to  arrange  a  fortuitous  meeting  at  breakfast  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais  between  Couture,  Lousteau,  and  himself,  where  they 
would  chat  in  his  hearing.  Finot,  who  was  to  Maxime  de 
Trailles  as  a  lieutenant  in  the  presence  of  a  Marshal  of 
France,  could  refuse  him  nothing;  it  was  indeed  too  danger- 
ous to  provoke  this  lion.  So  when  Maxime  came  in  to  break- 
fast, he  found  Finot  and  his  two  friends  at  a  table;  the  con- 


BEATRIX  30ft 

versation  had  already  been  directed  towards  the  subject  of 
Madame  Schontz.  Couture,  cleverly  steered  by  Finot  and 
Lousteau,  who,  unknown  to  himself,  was  Finot's  abettor,  let 
out  everything  that  the  Comte  de  Trailles  wanted  to  know 
about  Madame  Schontz. 

By  one  o'clock,  Maxime,  chewing  his  toothpick,  was  talking 
to  du  Tillet  on  the  steps  of  Tortoni's,  where  speculators  form 
a  little  Bourse  preliminary  to  real  dealings  on  'Change.  He 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  business,  but  he  was  waiting  to  see 
the  young  Comte  de  la  Palferine,  who  must  pass  that  way 
sooner  or  later.  The  Boulevard  des  Italiens  is  now  what  the 
Pont  Neuf  was  in  1650;  everybody  who  is  anybody  crosses  it 
at  least  once  a  day. 

In  fact,  within  ten  minutes,  Maxime  took  his  hand  from 
du  Tillet's  arm,  and  nodding  to  the  young  Prince  of  bohemia, 
said  with  a  smile,  "Two  words  with  you,  Count !" 

The  rivals,  one  a  setting  star,  the  other  a  rising  sun,  took 
their  seat  on  four  chairs  outside  the  Cafe  de  Paris.  Maxime 
was  careful  to  place  himself  at  a  sufficient  distance  from 
certain  old  fogies  who,  from  sheer  habit,  plant  themselves  in 
a  row  against  the  wall  after  one  in  the  afternoon,  to  dry  out 
their  rheumatic  pains.  He  had  ample  reasons  for  distrusting 
these  old  men.  (See  A  Man  of  Business.) 

"Have  you  any  debts  ?"  asked  Maxime  of  the  young  man. 

"If  I  had  not,  should  I  be  worthy  to  succeed  you  ?"  replied 
la  Palferine. 

"When  I  ask  you  such  a  question,  it  is  not  to  cast  any  doubt 
on  the  matter,"  said  de  Trailles.  "I  only  want  to  know  if 
they  amount  to  a  respectable  sum-total,  running  into  five  or 
six." 

"Five  or  six  what  ?"  said  la  Palferine. 

"Six  figures!  Do  you  owe  50,000,  100,000?— My  debt* 
ran  up  to  600,000  francs." 

La  Palferine  took  off  his  hat  with  an  air  of  mocking 
respect. 

"If  I  had  credit  enough  to  borrow  a  hundred  thousand 
francs/'  replied  he,  "I  would  cut  my  creditors  and  go  to  live 


^06  BEATRIX 

at  Venice  in  the  midst  of  its  masterpieces  of  painting,  spend- 
ing the  evening  at  the  theatre,  the  night  with  pretty  women, 
and " 

"And  at  my  age  where  would  you  be  ?" 

"I  should  not  last  so  long,"  replied  the  young  Count. 

Maxime  returned  his  rival's  civility  by  just  raising  his  hat 
with  an  expression  of  comical  gravity. 

"That  is  another  view  of  life,"  he  replied,  as  a  connoisseur 
answering  a  connoisseur.  "Then  you  owe ?" 

"Oh,  a  mere  trifle,  not  worth  confessing  to  an  uncle,  if  I 
had  one.  He  would  disinherit  me  for  such  a  contemptible 
sum;  six  thousand  francs." 

"Six  thousand  give  one  more  trouble  than  a  hundred  thou- 
sand," said  Maxime  sententiously.  "La  Palferine,  you  have  a 
bold  wit,  you  have  even  more  wit  than  boldness;  you  may 
go  far  and  become  a  political  personage.  Look  here — of  all 
the  men  who  have  rushed  into  the  career  which  I  have  run, 
and  who  have  been  pitted  against  me,  you  are  the  only 
one  I  ever  liked." 

La  Palferine  colored,  so  greatly  was  he  nattered  by  this 
confession,  made  with  gracious  bluntness,  by  the  greatest  of 
Parisian  adventurers.  This  instinct  of  vanity  was  a  confes- 
sion of  inferiority  which  annoyed  him;  but  Maxime  under- 
stood the  reaction  easy  to  foresee  in  so  clever  a  man,  and 
did  his  best  to  correct  it  at  once  by  placing  himself  at  the 
young  man's  discretion. 

"Will  you  do  something  for  me  now  that  I  am  retiring  from 
the  Olympian  course  by  marrying,  and  marrying  well? — I 
would  do  a  great  deal  for  you,"  he  added. 

"You  make  me  v.ery  proud,"  said  la  Palferine;  "this  is  to 
put  the  fable  of  the  lion  and  the  mouse  into  practice." 

"In  the  first  place,  I  will  lend  you  twenty  thousand  francs," 
Maxime  went  on. 

"Twenty  thousand  francs  ? — I  knew  that  if  I  walked  this 
Boulevard  long  enough !"  said  la  Palferine  in  a  paren- 
thesis. 

"My  dear  boy,  you  must  set  yourself  up  in  some  sort  of 


BEATRIX  307 

style,"  said  Maxime,  smiling.  "Do  not  trot  about  on  your 
two  feet;  set  up  six.  Do  as  I  have  done;  I  never  get  lower 
than  a  tilbury " 

"But  then  you  must  want  me  to  do  something  quite  beyond 
my  powers." 

"No.  Only  to  make  a  woman  fall  in  love  with  you  within 
a  fortnight." 

"A  woman  of  the  town?" 

"Why?" 

"That  would  be  out  of  the  question;  but  if  she  is  a  lady, 
quite  a  lady,  and  very  clever ; 

"She  is  a  Marquise  of  the  first  water." 

"You  want  her  letters?"  said  the  young  Count. 

"Ah,  you  are  a  man  after  my  own  heart !"  cried  Maxime. 
"No.  That  is  not  what  is  wanted." 

"I  am  really  to  love  her?" 

"Yes,  really  and  truly." 

"If  I  am  to  go  be}rond  esthetics,  it  is  quite  impossible,"  said 
la  Palferine.  "With  regard  to  women,  you  see,  I  have  a  kind 
of  honesty ;  we  may  trick  them,  but  not " 

"Then  I  have  not  been  mistaken,"  exclaimed  Maxime. 
"Do  you  suppose  I  am  the  man  to  scheme  for  some  little 
tu'pence  meanness?  .  .  .  No,  you  must  go,  you  must 
dazzle  and  conquer.  ...  I  give  you  twenty  thousand, 
and  ten  days  to  win  in. — Till  this  evening  at  Madame 
Schontz's."  ' 

"I  am  dining  there." 

"Good,"  said  Maxime.  "By  and  by,  when  you  want  me, 
you  will  find  me,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  he  added,  with  the  air 
of  a  king  pledging  his  word  rather  than  promising. 

"The  poor  woman  has  done  you  some  terrible  mischief 
then  ?"  asked  la  Palferine. 

"Do  not  try  to  sound  the  depth  of  my  waters,  my  son; 
but  let  me  tell  you  that,  if  you  succeed,  you  will  secure  such 
powerful  interest,  that  when  you  are  tired  of  your  Bohemian 
life  you  may,  like  me,  retire  on  the  strength  of  a  rich 
marriage." 


308  BEATRIX 

"Does  a  time  come,  then,  when  we  are  tired  of  amusing 
ourselves,"  said  la  Palferine,  "of  being  nothing,  of  living  as 
the  birds  live,  of  hunting  in  Paris  like  wild  men,  and  laugh- 
ing at  all  that  turns  up  ?" 

"We  tire  of  everything,  even  of  hell !"  said  Maxime  with  a 
laugh.— "Till  this  evening." 

The  two  scamps,  the  old  one  and  the  young  one,  rose.  As 
Maxime  got  into  his  one-horse  cab,  he  said  to  himself : 

"Madame  d'Espard  cannot  endure  Beatrix;  she  will  help 
me. — To  the  Hotel  Grandlieu,"  he  cried  to  the  coachman,  see- 
ing Bastignac  pass.  Find  a  great  man  without  a  weakness. 

Maxime  found  the  Duchess,  Madame  du  Guenic,  and 
Clotilde  in  tears. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  asked  the  Duchess. 

"Calyste  did  not  come  in — it  is  the  first  time,  and  my  poor 
Sabine  is  in  despair." 

"Madame  la  Duchesse,"  said  Maxime,  drawing  the  pious 
lady  into  a  window-bay,  "in  the  name  of  God,  who  will  judge 
us,  do  not  breathe  a  word  as  to  my  devotion;  pledge  d'Ajuda 
to  secrecy;  never  let  Calyste  know  anything  of  our  plots,  or 
we  shall  fight  a  duel  to  the  death.  When  I  told  you  this 
would  not  cost  you  much,  I  meant  that  you  would  not  have  to 
spend  any  monstrous  sum.  I  want  about  twenty  thousand 
francs,  but  everything  else  is  my  business;  you  may  have  to 
find  some  good  appointments — one  Receiver-General's,  per- 
haps." 

The  Duchess  and  Maxime  left  the  room.  When  Madame 
de  Grandlieu  came  back  to  her  two  daughters,  she  heard  a 
fresh  lament  from  Sabine,  full  of  domestic  details,  even  more 
heartbreaking  than  those  which  had  put  an  end  to  the  young 
wife's  happiness. 

"Be  calm,  my  child,"  said  the  Duchess  to  her  daughter; 
"Beatrix  will  pay  dearly  for  all  your  tears  and  misery;  she 
will  endure  ten  humiliations  for  each  one  of  yours." 

Madame  Schontz  had  sent  word  to  Claude  Vignon,  who  had 
frequently  expressed  a  wish  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 


BEATRIX  309 

Maxime  de  Trailles;  she  invited  Couture,  Fabien,  Bixiou, 
Leon  de  Lora,  la  Pal  ferine,  and  Nathan,  whom  Eochefide 
begged  to  have  for  Maxime's  benefit.  Thus  she  had  a  party 
of  nine,  all  of  the  first  water,  excepting  du  Eoneeret ;  but  the 
Heir's  Norman  vanity  and  brutality  were  a  match  for  Claude 
Vignon's  literary  force,  for  Nathan's  poetry,  la  Palferine's 
acumen,  Couture's  keen  eye  to  the  main  chance,  Bixiou's  wit, 
Finot's  foresight,  Maxime's  depth,  and  Leon  de  Lora's 
genius. 

Madame  Schontz,  who  aimed  at  appearing  young  and  hand- 
some, fortified  herself  in  such  a  toilet  as  women  of  that  class 
alone  can  achieve — a  point-lace  cape  of  spider-web  fineness, 
a  blue  velvet  dress,  of  which  the  elegant  bodice  was  buttoned 
with  opals,  her  hair  in  smooth  bands,  and  shining  like  ebony. 
Madame  Schontz  owed  her  fame  as  a  beauty  to  the  brilliancy 
and  color  of  a  warm,  creamy  complexion  like  a  Creole's,  a 
face  full  of  original  details,  with  the  clean-cut,  firm  features 
— of  which  the  Comtesse  de  Merlin  Avas  the  most  famous  ex- 
ample and  the  most  perennially  young — peculiar  perhaps  to 
southern  faces.  Unluckily,  since  her  life  had  been  so  calm, 
so  easy,  little  Madame  Schontz  had  grown  decidedly  fat. 
Her  neck  and  shoulders,  bewitchingly  round,  were  getting 
coarse.  Still,  in  France  a  woman's  face  is  thought  all-im- 
portant, and  a  fine  head  will  secure  a  long  life  to  an  ungrace- 
ful shape. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Maxime  as  he  came  in  and  kissed 
Aurelie  on  the  forehead,  "Eochefide  wanted  me  to  see  your 
home,  where  I  have  not  yet  been;  it  is  almost  worthy  of  his 
income  of  four  hundred  thousand  francs.  Well,  he  had  less 
by  fifty  thousand  a  year  when  he  first  knew  you ;  in  less  than 
five  years  you  have  gained  for  him  as  much  as  any  other 
woman — Antonia,  Malaga,  Cadine,  or  Florentine — would 
have  devoured." 

"I  am  not  a  baggage — I  am  an  artist !"  said  Madame 
Schontz,  with  some  dignity.  "I  hope  to  end  by  founding  a 
family  of  respectable  folks,  as  they  say  in  the*  play." 

"It  is  dreadful,  we  all   getting  married,"  said  Maxime, 


310  BEATRIX 

dropping  into  a  chair  by  the  fire.  "Here  am  I  within  a  few 
days  of  making  a  Comtesse  Maxime." 

"Oh  !  how  I  should  like  to  see  her !"  cried  Madame  Schontz. 
— "But  allow  me,"  she  went  on,  "to  introduce  Monsieur 
Claude  Vignon — Monsieur  Claude  Vignon,  Monsieur  de 
Trailles." 

"Ah,  it  was  you  who  let  Camille  Maupin — mine  hostess  of 
literature — go  into  a  convent?"  cried  Maxime.  "After  you, 
God ! — No  one  ever  did  me  so  much  honor.  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  made  a  Louis  XIV.  of  you,  monsieur." 

"And  this  is  how  history  is  written !"  said  Claude  Vignon. 
"Did  you  not  know  that  her  fortune  was  spent  in  releasing 
Monsieur  du  Guenic's  estates  ?  If  she  knew  that  Calyste  had 
fallen  into  the  arms  of  her  ex-friend! —  ''  Maxime  kicked 
the  critic's  foot,  looking  at  Monsieur  de  Eochefide,  "on  my 
word,  I  believe  she  would  come  out  of  her  nunnery  to  snatch 
him  from  her." 

"I  declare,  my  dear  Eochefide,"  said  Maxime,  finding  that 
his  warning  had  failed  to  check  Claude  Vignon,  "in  your 
place  I  would  give  my  wife  her  fortune,  that  the  world  might 
not  suppose  that  she  had  taken  up  Calyste  for  want  of 
money." 

"Maxime  is  right !"  said  Madame  Schontz,  looking  at 
Arthur,  who  colored  violently.  "If  I  have  saved  you  some 
thousand  francs  to  invest,  you  could  not  spend  them  better. 
I  should  have  secured  the  happiness  of  both  husband  and 
wife. — What  a  good-conduct  stripe !" 

"I  never  thought  of  it,"  replied  the  Marquis.  "But  it  is 
true ;  one  is  a  gentleman  first,  and  a  husband  after." 

"Let  me  advise  you  of  the  appropriate  moment  for  your 
generosity,"  said  Maxime. 

"Arthur,"  said  Aurelie,  "Maxime  is  right.  Our  generous 
actions,  you  see,  old  boy,  must  be  done  as  Couture's  shares 
must  be  sold,"  and  she  looked  in  the  glass  to  see  who  was 
coming  in,  "in  the  nick  of  time." 

Couture  was  followed  by  Finot,  and  in  a  few  minutes  all 
the  guests  were  assembled  in  the  handsome  blue-and-gold 


BEATRIX  311 

drawing-room  of  the  "Hotel  Schontz,"  as  the  men  called  their 
place  of  meeting  since  Eochefide  had  bought  it  for  his  Ninon 
II.  On  seeing  la  Palferine  come  in  the  last,  Maxime  went  up 
to  him,  drew  him  into  a  recess,  and  gave  him  the  twenty  bank- 
notes. 

"Above  all,  do  not  be  stingy  with  them,"  said  he,  with  the 
native  grace  of  a  spendthrift. 

"No  one  knows  so  well  as  you  how  to  double  the  value 
of  what  appears  to  be  a  gift,"  replied  la  Palferine. 

"Then  you  agree  ?" 

"Well,  since  I  take  the  money !"  replied  the  youth,  with 
some  pride  and  irony. 

"Very  well.  Nathan,  who  is  here,  will  take  you  within  two 
days  to  call  on  the  Marquise  de  Eochefide,"  said  Maxime  in 
his  ear. 

La  Palferine  jumped  as  he  heard  the  name. 

"Do  not  fail  to  declare  yourself  madly  in  love  with  her; 
and,  to  rouse  no  suspicions,  drink,  wine,  liqueurs  no  end !  I 
will  tell  Aurelie  to  put  you  next  to  Nathan.  Only,  my  son, 
we  must  now  meet  every  night  on  the  Boulevard  de  la 
Madeleine,  at  one  in  the  morning ;  you  to  report  progress,  and 
I  to  give  you  instructions." 

"I  will  be  there,  master,"  said  the  young  Count,  with 
a  bow. 

"What  makes  you  ask  a  fellow  to  dine  with  us  who  comes 
dressed  like  a  waiter  ?"  said  Maxime  to  Madame  Schontz  in  a 
whisper,  and  looking  at  du  Eonceret. 

"Have  you  never  seen  'The  Heir?'  Du  Eonceret,  from 
Alengon." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Maxime  to  Fabien,  "you  must  know  my 
friend  d'Esgrignon  ?" 

"Victurnien  dropped  the  acquaintance  long  since,"  replied 
Fabien,  "but  we  were  very  intimate  as  boys." 

The  dinner  was  such  as  can  only  be  given  in  Paris,  and  in 
the  houses  of  these  perfectly  reckless  women,  for  their  refined 
luxury  amazes  the  most  fastidious.  It  was  at  a  supper  of  this 
kind,  given  by  a  rich  and  handsome  courtesan  like  Madame 


Slit  BEATRIX 

SoKontz,  that  Paganini  declared  that  he  had  never  eaten  such 
food  at  the  table  of  any  sovereign,  nor  drunk  such  wine  in  any 
prince's  house,  nor  heard  such  witty  conversation,  nor  seen 
such  attractive  and  tasteful  magnificence. 

Maxime  and  Madame  Schontz  were  the  first  to  return  to 
the  drawing-room,  at  about  ten  o'clock,  leaving  the  other 
guests,  who  had  ceased  to  veil  their  anecdotes,  and  who  boasted 
of  their  powers,  with  sticky  lips  glued  to  liqueur  glasses  that 
they  could  not  empty. 

"Well,  pretty  one,"  said  Maxime,  "you  are  quite  right.  Yes, 
I  came  to  get  something  out  of  you.  It  is  a  serious  matter; 
you  must  give  up  Arthur.  But  I  will  see  that  he  gives  you 
two  hundred  thousand  francs." 

"And  why  am  I  to  give  him  up,  poor  old  boy?" 

"To  marry  that  noodle,  who  came  from  Alengon  on  purpose. 
He  has  already  been  a  Judge ;  I  will  get  him  made  President 
of  the  Court  in  the  place  of  old  Blondet,  who  is  nearly  eighty- 
two,  and  if  you  know  how  to  catch  the  wind,  your  husband 
will  be  elected  deputy.  You  will  be  people  of  importance, 
and  crush  Madame  la  Comtesse  du  Bruel " 

"Never !"  cried  Madame  Schontz ;  "she  is  a  Countess." 

"Is  he  of  the  stuff  they  make  counts  of  ?" 

"Well,  he  has  a  coat-of-arms,"  said  Aurelie,  seeking  a  letter 
in  a  handsome  bag  that  hung  by  the  fireplace,  and  handing  it 
to  Maxime.  "What  does  it  all  mean?  There  are  combs  on 
it." 

"He  bears :  Quarterly,  the  first  argent  three  combs  gules, 
second  and  third  three  bunches  of  grapes  with  stems  and 
leaves  all  proper,  fourth  azure  four  pens  or,  laid  in  fret. 
Motto,  Servir,  and  a  squire's  helmet. — No  great  things ! 
They  were  granted  by  Louis  XV. — They  must  have  had  some 
haberdasher  grandfather,  the  maternal  ancestry  made  money 
in  wine,  and  the  du  Eonceret  who  got  the  arms  must  have 
been  a  registrar. — But  if  you  succeed  in  throwing  off  Arthur, 
the  du  Roncerets  shall  be  Barons  at  least,  I  promise  you,  my 
pretty  pigeon.  You  see,  child,  you  must  lie  in  pickle  for  five 
or  six  years  in  the  country  if  you  want  to  bury  la  Schontz  in 


BEATRIX  313 

Madame  la  Presidente.  The  rascal  cast  eyes  at  you,  of  which 
the  meaning  was  quite  clear ;  you  have  hooked  him." 

"No,"  said  Aurelie.  "When  I  offered  him  my  hand,  he 
was  as  quiet  as  brandy  is  in  the  market." 

"I  will  make  up  his  mind  for  him  if  he  is  tipsy.  Go  and 
see  how  they  are  all  getting  on." 

"It  is  not  worth  the  trouble  of  going.  I  hear  no  one  but 
Bixiou  giving  one  of  his  caricatures,  to  which  nobody  is 
listening ;  but  I  know  my  Arthur ;  he  thinks  it  necessary  to  be 
polite  to  Bixiou,  and  he  is  staring  at  him  still,  even  if  his 
eyes  are  shut." 

"Let  us  go  back  then." 

"By  the  by,  for  whose  benefit  am  I  doing  all  this,  Maxime  ?'' 
said  Madame  Schontz  suddenly. 

"For  Madame  de  Rochefide,"  replied  Maxime  bluntly.'  "It 
is  impossible  to  patch  up  matters  between  her  and  Arthur  so 
long  as  you  keep  hold  of  him.  To  her  it  is  a  matter  of 
being  at  the  head  of  her  house  and  having  four  hundred 
thousand  francs  a  year." 

"And  she  only  offers  me  two  hundred  thousand  francs 
down?  I  will  have  three  hundred  thousand  if  she  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  What,  I  have  taken  every  care  of  her  brat  and 
her  husband,  I  have  filled  her  place  in  every  way,  and  she  is  to 
beat  me  down  ?  Look  here,  my  dear  fellow,  I  shall  then  have 
just  a  million.  And  besides  that,  you  promise  me  the  Presi- 
dency of  the  Court  at  Alengon  if  only  I  can  make  up  for 
Madame  du  Ronceret " 

"Right  you  are  !"  said  Maxime. 

"How  I  shall  be  bored  in  that  little  town!"  said  Aurelie 
philosophically.  "I  have  heard  so  much  about  that  part  of  the 
country  from  d'Esgrignon  and  Madame  Val-Noble,  that  it  is 
as  though  I  had  lived  there  already." 

"But  if  I  could  promise  you  the  help  of  the  title  ?" 

"Oh,  Maxime,  if  you  can  really  do  that. — Ay,  but  the  pigeon 
refuses  to  fly " 

"And  he  is  very  ugly,  with  his  skin  like  a  plum;  he  has 
bristles  instead  of  whiskers,  and  looks  like  a  wild  boar, 


314  BEATRIX 

though  he  has  eyes  like  a  bird  of  prey.  He  will  be  the  finest 
President  ever  seen. — Be  easy !  In  ten  minutes  he  will  be 
singing  you  Isabelle's  song  in  the  fourth  act  of  Robert  le 
Diable,  'Je  suis  a  tes  genoux.' — But  you  must  undertake  to 
send  Arthur  back  to  fall  at  Beatrix's  feet." 

"It  is  difficult,  but  among  us  we  may  manage  it." 

At  about  half -past  ten  the  gentlemen  came  into  the  draw- 
ing-room to  take  coffee.  In  the  position  in  which  Madame 
Sehontz,  Couture,  and  du  Eonceret  found  themselves,  it  is 
easy  to  imagine  the  effect  that  was  produced  on  the  ambitious 
Norman  by  the  following  conversation  between  Couture  and 
Maxime  in  a  corner,  carried  on  indeed  in  an  undertone  that 
they  might  not  be  overheard,  but  which  Fabien  contrived  to 
hear. 

"My  dear  fellow,  if  you  were  wise,  you  would  accept  the 
place  of  Receiver- General  in  some  out-of-the-way  place; 
Madame  de  Rochefide  would  get  it  for  you.  Aurelie's  million 
francs  would  enable  you  to  deposit  the  security,  and  you 
would  settle  everything  on  her  as  your  wife.  Then,  if  you 
steered  your  boat  cleverly,  you  would  be  made  deputy,  and  the 
only  premium  I  ask  for  having  saved  you  will  be  your  vote  in 
the  Chamber." 

"I  shall  always  be  proud  to  serve  under  you." 

"Oh,  my  boy,  you  have  had  a  very  close  shave!  Just 
fancy,  Aurelie  thought  herself  in  love  with  that  Norman  from 
Alengon;  she  wanted  to  have  him  made  a  Baron,  President 
of  the  Court  in  his  native  town,  and  officer  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor.  The  noodle  never  guessed  what  Madame  Schontz 
was  worth,  and  you  owe  your  good  fortune  to  her  disgust;  so 
do  not  give  such  a  clever  woman  time  to  change  her  mind. 
For  my  part,  I  will  go  and  put  the  irons  in  the  fire." 

So  Maxime  left  Couture  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  happiness, 
and  said  to  la  Palferine,  "Shall  I  take  you  with  me,  my 
son?" 

By  eleven  o'clock  Aurelie  found  herself  left  with  Couture, 
Fabien,  and  Rochefide.  Arthur  was  asleep  in  an  armchair; 
Couture  and  Fabien  were  trying  to  out-stay  each  other,  but 


BEATRIX  315 

without  success.  Madame  Schontz  put  an  end  to  this  contest 
by  saying  to  Couture,  "Till  to-morrow,  dear  boy !"  which  he 
took  in  good  part. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Fabien,  in  a  low  voice,  "when  you  saw 
me  so  unready  to  respond  to  the  proposal  you  made  me  in- 
directly, do  not  imagine  that  there  was  the  smallest  hesitation 
on  my  part ;  but  you  do  not  know  my  mother ;  she  would  never 
consent  to  my  happiness  .  .  ." 

"You  are  of  age  to  address  her  with  a  sommation 
respectueuse*  my  dear  fellow/'  retorted  Aurelie  insolently. 
"However,  if  you  are  afraid  of  mamma,  you  are  not  the  man 
for  my  money." 

"Josephine !"  said  the  Heir  affectionately,  as  he  boldly  put 
his  right  arm  round  Madame  Schontz's  waist,  "I  believed  that 
you  loved  me." 

"And  what  then?" 

"I  might  perhaps  pacify  my  mother,  and  gain  more  than 
her  consent." 

"How?" 

"If  you  would  use  your  influence " 

"To  get  you  created  Baron,  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 
and  President  of  the  Court,  my  boy — is  that  it? — Listen  to 
me,  I  have  done  so  many  things  in  the  course  of  my  life,  that 
I  am  capable  of  being  virtuous  !  I  could  be  an  honest  woman, 
a  loyal  wife,  and  take  my  husband  in  tow  to  upper  regions ; 
but  I  insist  on  being  so  loved  by  him  that  not  a  glance,  not 
a  thought,  shall  ever  be  given  to  any  heart  but  mine,  not  even 
in  a  wish.  .  .  .  How  does  that  do  for  you  ?  Do  not  bind 
yourself  rashly;  it  is  for  life,  my  boy." 

"With  a  woman  like  you,  done,  without  looking  twice!" 
cried  Fabien,  as  much  intoxicated  by  a  look  as  he  was  by  the 
West  Indian  liqueurs. 

"You  shall  never  repent  of  that  word,  my  brave  boy ;  you 
shall  be  a  peer  of  France. — As  to  that  poor  old  chap,"  she 
went  on,  looking  at  Eochefide  asleep,  "it  is  a,  double  1,  all, 
o-v-e-r,  ver — all  over !" 

*  A  legal  form  by  which  French  sons  can  reduce  the  obstinacy  of  recalcitrant 
parents  when  they  refuse  their  consent  to  a  marriage. 


316  BEATRIX 

She  said  it  so  cleverly,  so  prettily,  that  Fabien  seized 
Madame  Schontz  and  kissed  her  with  an  impulse  of  passion 
and  joy,  in  which  the  intoxication  of  love  and  wine  were 
second  to  that  of  happiness  and  ambition. 

"But  now,  my  dear  child,"  said  she,  "you  must  remember 
henceforth  to  behave  respectfully  to  your  wife,  not  to  play  the 
lover,  and  to  leave  me  to  get  out  of  my  slough  as  decently  as 
may  be. — And  Couture,  who  believed  himself  a  rich  man  and 
Eeceiver-General ! " 

"I  have  a  horror  of  the  man/'  said  Fabien.  "I  wish  I 
might  never  see  him  again !" 

"I  will  have  him  here  no  more,"  said  the  courtesan  with 
a  little  prudish  air.  "Now  that  we  understand  each  other, 
my  Fabien,  go;  it  is  one  o'clock." 

This  little  scene  gave  rise  in  the  Schontz  household,  hitherto 
so  perfectly  happy,  to  a  phase  of  domestic  warfare  between 
Arthur  and  Aurelie,  such  as  any  covert  interest  on  the  part  of 
one  of  the  partners  is  certain  to  give  rise  to. 

The  very  next  day  Arthur  woke  to  find  himself  alone; 
Madame  Schontz  was  cold,  as  women  of  that  sort  know 
how  to  be. 

"What  happened  last  night?"  asked  he  at  breakfast,  look- 
ing at  Aurelie. 

"That  is  the  way  of  it,  in  Paris,"  said  she.  "You  go  to 
bed  on  a  wet  night,  next  morning  the  pavement  is  dry,  and 
everything  so  frozen  that  the  dust  flies;  would  you  like  a 
brush?" 

"But  what  ails  you,  dear  little  woman?" 

"Go,  go  to  your  great  gawk  of  a  wife !" 

"My  wife?"  cried  the  unhappy  Marquis. 

"Couldn't  I  guess  why  you  brought  Maxime  here?  You 
wanted  to  make  it  up  with  Madame  de  Kochefide,  who  wants 
you  perhaps  for  some  tell-tale  baby. — And  I,  whom  you  think 
so  cunning,  was  advising  you  to  give  her  back  her  money ! — 
Oh,  I  know  your  tricks.  After  five  years  my  gentleman  is 
tired  of  me.  I  am  fat,  Beatrix  is  bony ;  it  will  be  a  change. 
You  are  not  the  first  man  I  have  known  with  a  taste  for 


BEATRIX  317 

skeletons.  Your  Beatrix  dresses  well  too,  and  you  are  one  of 
the  men  who  like  a  clothes-horse.  Besides,  you  want  to  send 
Monsieur  du  Guenic  packing.  That  would  be  a  triumph! 
How  well  it  will  look !  Won't  it  be  talked  about !  You  will 
be  quite  a  hero !" 

At  two  o'clock  Madame  Schontz  had  not  come  to  an  end 
of  her  ironical  banter,  in  spite  of  Arthur's  protestations. 
She  said  she  was  engaged  to  dine  out.  She  desired  the  "faith- 
less one"  to  go  without  her  to  the  Italiens ;  she  was  going  to  a 
first-night  performance  at  the  Ambigu-Comique,  and  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  a  charming  woman,  Lousteau's  mistress, 
Madame  de  la  Baudraye. 

To  prove  his  eternal  attachment  to  his  little  Aurelie,  and 
his  aversion  for  his  wife,  Arthur  offered  to  set  out  the  very 
next  day  for  Italy,  and  to  live  as  her  husband  in  Rome, 
Naples,  or  Florence,  whichever  Aurelie  might  prefer,  giving 
her  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year. 

"All  that  is  pure  whims,"  said  she.  "That  will  not  hinder 
your  making  it  up  with  your  wife,  and  you  will  be  wise  to  do 
so." 

At  the  end  of  this  formidable  discussion,  Arthur  and 
Aurelie  parted,  he  to  play  and  dine  at  the  club,  she  to  dress 
and  spend  the  evening  tete-a-tete  with  Fabien. 

Monsieur  de  Rochefide  found  Maxime  at  the  club,  and 
poured  out  his  complaints,  as  a  man  who  felt  happiness  being 
torn  up  from  his  heart  by  the  roots  that  clung  by  every  fibre. 
Maxime  listened  to  the  Marquis'  lament  as  polite  people  can 
listen  while  thinking  of  something  else. 

"I  am  a  capital  counselor  in  such  cases,  my  dear  fellow," 
said  he.  "Well,  you  make  a  great  mistake  in  letting  Aurelie 
see  how  much  you  care  for  her.  Let  me  introduce  you  to 
Madame  Antonia — a  heart  to  let.  You  will  see  la  Schontz 
sing  very  small.  Why,  she  is  seven-and-thirty,  is  your 
Schontz,  and  Antonia  is  but  twenty-six  !  And  such  a  woman ! 
Her  wits  are  not  all  in  her  brains,  I  can  tell  you.  Indeed, 
she  is  my  pupil.  If  Madame  Schontz  still  struts  out  her 
pride,  do  you  know  what  it  means  ?" 


318  BEATRIX 

"On  my  honor,  no." 

"That  she  means  to  get  married;  and  then  nothing  can 
hinder  her  from  throwing  you  over.  After  a  six  years'  lease 
the  woman  has  a  right  to  do  it. — But  if  you  will  listen  to 
me,  you  can  do  better  than  that.  At  the  present  time  your 
wife  is  worth  a  thousand  Schontzes  and  Antonias  of  the 
Saint-Georges  quarter.  She  will  be  hard  to  win,  but  not 
impossible;  and  she  will  make  you  as  happy  as  Orgon!  At 
any  rate,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  look  like  a  fool,  come  to  supper 
to-night  at  Antonia's." 

"No,  I  love  Aurelie  too  well;  I  will  not  allow  her  to  have 
any  cause  for  blaming  me." 

"Oh,  my  dear  fellow !  what  a  life  you  are  making  for  your- 
self !"  cried  Maxime. 

"It  is  eleven  o'clock.  She  will  have  returned  from  the 
Ambigu,"  said  Eochefide,  going  off.  And  he  roared  at  the 
coachman  to  drive  as  fast  as  he  could  to  the  Eue  de  la 
Bruyere. 

Madame  Schontz  had  given  distinct  orders,  and  Monsieur 
was  admitted  exactly  as  though  he  and  Madame  were  the  best 
of  friends ;  but  Madame,  informed  of  Monsieur's  return,  took 
care  to  let  Monsieur  hear  the  slam  of  her  dressing-room  door, 
shut  as  doors  shut  when  a  lady  is  taken  by  surprise.  Then, 
on  the  corner  of  the  piano,  was  Fabien's  hat,  intentionally 
forgotten,  and  conspicuously  fetched  away  by  the  maid  as  soon 
as  Monsieur  and  Madame  were  engaged  in  conversation. 

"So  you  did  not  go  to  the  play,  little  woman  ?" 

"No,  I  changed  my  mind." 

"And  who  has  been  here?"  he  asked  quite  simply,  seeing 
the  maid  carry  away  the  hat. 

"Nobody." 

To  this  audacious  falsehood  Arthur  could  only  bow  his 
head ;  this  was  passing  under  the  Caudine  forks  of  submission. 
True  love  has  this  magnanimous  cowardice.  Arthur  behaved 
to  Madame  Schontz  as  Sabine  did  to  Calyste,  as  Calyste  did 
to  Beatrix. 


BEATRIX  819 

Within  a  week  there  was  a  change  like  that  of  a  grub  to  a 
butterfly  in  the  handsome  and  clever  young  Count,  Charles- 
Edouard  Eusticoli  de  la  Palferine  (the  hero  of  the  sketch 
called  A  Prince  of  Bohemia,  which  makes  it  unnecessary  to 
describe  his  person  and  character  in  this  place).  Hitherto 
he  had  lived  very  poorly,  making  up  his  deficits  with  the 
audacity  of  a  Danton;  now  he  paid  his  debts,  by  Maxime's 
advice  he  had  a  little  low  carriage,  he  was  elected  to  the 
Jockey  Club,  to  the  club  in  the  Eue  de  Grammont,  he  became 
superlatively  elegant.  Finally,  he  published  in  the  Journal 
des  Debats  a  novel  which  earned  him  in  a  few  days  such  a 
reputation  as  professional  writers  do  not  achieve  after  many 
years  of  labor  and  success,  for  in  Paris  nothing  is  so  vehement 
as  what  is  to  prove  ephemeral.  Nathan,  perfectly  certain  that 
the  Count  would  never  write  anything  more,  praised  this 
elegant  and  impertinent  youth  to  Madame  de  Kochefide  in 
such  terms,  that  Beatrix,  spurred  on  by  the  poet's  account  of 
him,  expressed  a  wish  to  see  this  prince  of  fashionable 
vagabonds. 

"He  will  be  all  the  more  delighted  to  come  here,"  replied 
Nathan,  "because  I  know  he  is  so  much  in  love  with  you  as  to 
commit  any  folly." 

"But  he  has  committed  every  folly  already,  I  am  told." 

"Every  folly  ?  No,"  replied  Nathan,  "he  has  not  yet  been 
so  foolish  as  to  love  a  decent  woman." 

A  few  days  after  the  plot  of  the  Boulevard  had  been  laid 
between  Maxime  and  the  seductive  Count  Charles-Edouard, 
this  young  gentleman,  on  whom  Nature  had  bestowed — in 
irony,  no  doubt — a  pathetically  melancholy  countenance,  made 
his  first  incursion  into  the  nest  in  the  Eue  de  Courcelles, 
where  the  dove,  to  receive  him,  fixed  an  evening  when  Calyste 
was  obliged  to  go  out  with  his  wife.  If  ever  you  meet  la 
Palferine — or  when  you  come  to  the  Prince  of  Bohemia  in  the 
third  part  of  this  long  picture  of  modern  manners — you  will 
at  once  understand  the  triumph  achieved  in  a  single  evening 
by  that  sparkling  wit,  those  astonishing  high  spirits,  especially 
if  you  can  conceive  of  the  capital  by-play  of  the  sponsor  who 


820  BEATRIX 

agreed  to  second  him  on  this  occasion.  Nathan  was  a  good 
fellow;  he  showed  off  the  young  Count  as  a  jeweler  shows 
off  a  necklace  he  wants  to  sell,  by  making  the  stones  sparkle 
in  the  light. 

La  Palferine  discreetly  was  the  first  to  leave ;  he  left  Nathan 
and  the  Marquise  together,  trusting  to  the  great  author's  co- 
operation, which  was  admirable.  Seeing  the  Marquise  quite 
amazed,  he  fired  her  fancy  by  a  certain  reticence,  which  stirred 
in  her  such  chords  of  curiosity  as  she  did  not  know  existed 
in  her.  Nathan  gave  her  to  understand  that  it  was  not  so 
much  la  Palferine's  wit  that  won  him  his  successes  with  wo- 
men as  his  superior  gifts  in  the  art  of  love;  and  he  cried  him 
up  beyond  measure. 

This  is  the  place  for  setting  forth  a  novel  result  of  the  great 
law  of  contrasts,  which  gives  rise  to  many  a  crisis  in  the 
human  heart,  and  accounts  for  so  many  vagaries  that  we  are 
forced  to  refer  to  it  sometimes,  as  well  as  to  the  law  of 
affinities.  Courtesans — including  all  that  portion  of  the 
female  sex  which  is  named,  unnamed,  and  renamed  every 
quarter  of  a  century — all  preserve,  in  the  depths  of  their 
hearts,  a  vigorous  wish  to  recover  their  liberty,  to  feel  a  pure, 
saintly,  and  heroic  love  for  some  man  to  whom  they  can 
sacrifice  everything.  (See  A  Harlot's  Progress.)  They 
feel  this  antithetical  need  so  keenly,  that  it  is  rare  to  find  a 
woman  of  the  kind  who  has  not  many  times  aspired  to  become 
virtuous  through  love.  The  most  frightful  deception  cannot 
discourage  them.  Women  who  are,  on  the  contrary,  re- 
strained by  education,  and  by  their  rank  in  life,  fettered  by 
the  dignity  of  their  family,  living  in  the  midst  of  wealth, 
crowned  by  a  halo  of  virtue,  are  tempted — secretly,  of  course — 
to  try  the  tropical  regions  of  passion.  These  two  antagonis- 
tic types  of  women  have,  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts,  the  one 
a  little  craving  for  virtue,  the  other  a  little  craving  for  dis- 
sipation, which  Jean-Jacques  Eousseau  first  had  the  courage 
to  point  out.  In  those  it  is  the  last  gleam  of  the  divine  light 
not  yet  extinct ;  in  these  it  is  a  trace  of  the  primitive  clay. 

This  remaining  claw  of  the  beast  was  tickled,  this  hair  of 


BEATRIX  321 

the  devil  was  pulled  with  the  greatest  skill,  by  Nathan.  The 
Marquise  seriously  wondered  whether  she  had  not  hitherto 
been  the  dupe  of  her  intellect,  whether  her  education  was  com- 
plete. Vice ! — is  perhaps  the  desire  to  know  everything. 

Next  day  Calyste  was  seen  by  Beatrix  as  what  he  was — 
a  perfect  and  loyal  gentleman,  devoid  of  spirit  and  wit. 

In  Paris,  to  be  known  as  a  wit,  a  man's  wit  must  flow  as 
water  flows  from  a  spring;  for  all  men  of  fashion,  and 
Parisians  in  general,  are  witty.  But  Calyste  was  too  much  in 
love,  he  was  too  much  absorbed  to  observe  the  change  in 
Beatrix,  and  satisfy  her  by  opening  up  fresh  veins;  he  was 
very  colorless  in  the  reflected  light  of  the  previous  evening, 
and  could  not  give  the  greedy  Beatrix  the  smallest  excitement. 
A  great  love  is  a  credit  account  open  to  such  voracious  drafts 
on  it  that  the  moment  of  bankruptcy  is  inevitable. 

In  spite  of  the  weariness  of  this  day — the  day  when  a 
woman  is  bored  by  her  lover ! — Beatrix  shuddered  with  fears 
as  she  thought  of  a  duel  between  la  Palferine,  the  successor 
of  Maxime  de  Trailles,  and  Calyste  du  Guenic,  a  brave  man 
without  brag.  She  therefore  hesitated  to  see  the  young 
Count  any  more ;  but  the  knot  was  cut  by  a  simple  incident. 
Beatrix  had  a  third  share  in  a  box  at  the  Italiens — a  dark 
box  on  the  pit  tier  where  she  might  not  be  seen.  For  some 
few  days  Calyste  had  been  so  bold  as  to  accompany  the 
Marquise  and  sit  behind  her,  timing  their  arrival  late  enough 
to  attract  no  attention.  Beatrix  was  always  one  of  the  first 
to  leave  before  the  end  of  the  last  act,  and  Calyste  escorted 
her,  keeping  an  eye  on  her,  though  old  Antoine  was  in  waiting 
on  his  mistress. 

Maxime  and  la  Palferine  studied  these  tactics,  dictated  by 
the  proprieties,  by  the  love  of  concealment  characteristic  of 
the  "Eternal  Baby,"  and  also  by  a  dread  that  weighs  on  every 
woman  who,  having  once  been  a  constellation  of  fashion,  has 
fallen  for  love  from  her  rank  in  the  zodiac.  She  then  fears 
humiliation  as  a  worse  agony  than  death;  but  this  agony  of 
pride,  this  shipwreck,  which  women  who  have  kept  their  place 
on  Olympus  inflict  on  those  who  have  fallen,  came  upon  her, 


322  BEATRIX 

by  Maxime's  contriving,  under  the  most  horrible  circum- 
stances. 

At  a  performance  of  Lucia,  which  ended,  as  is  well  known, 
by  one  of  Rubini's  greatest  triumphs,  Madame  de  Eochefide, 
before  she  was  called  by  Antoine,  came  out  from  the  corridor 
into  the  vestibule  of  the  theatre,  where  the  stairs  were  crowded 
with  pretty  women,  grouped  on  the  steps,  or  standing  in  knots 
till  their  servants  should  bring  up  their  carriages.  Beatrix 
was  at  once  recognized  by  all;  a  whisper  ran  through  every 
group,  rising  to  a  murmur.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  every 
woman  vanished;  the  Marquise  was  left  alone  as  if  plague- 
stricken.  Calyste,  seeing  his  wife  on  one  of  the  staircases, 
dared  not  join  the  outcast,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  Beatrix 
twice  gave  him  a  tearful  look,  an  entreaty  to  come  to  her 
support.  At  that  moment  la  Palferine,  elegant,  lordly  and 
charming,  quitted  two  other  women,  and  came,  with  a  bow, 
to  talk  to  the  Marquise. 

"Take  my  arm  and  come  defiantly  with  me ;  I  can  find  your 
carriage,"  said  he. 

"Will  you  finish  the  evening  with  me  ?"  she  replied,  as  she 
got  into  her  carriage  and  made  room  for  him  by  her 
side. 

La  Palferine  said  to  his  groom,  "Follow  Madame's 
carriage/'  and  got  in  with  Madame  de  Rochefide,  to  Calyste's 
amazement.  He  was  left  standing,  planted  on  his  feet  as 
though  they  were  made  of  lead,  for  it  was  on  seeing  him  look- 
ing pale  and  blank  that  Beatrix  had  invited  the  young  Count 
to  accompany  her.  Every  dove  is  a  Eobespierre  in 
white  feathers. 

Three  carriages  arrived  together  at  the  Eue  de  Courcelles 
with  lightning  swiftness — Calyste's,  la  Palferine's,  and  the 
Marquise's. 

"So  you  are  here  ?"  said  Beatrix,  on  going  into  her  drawing- 
room  leaning  on  the  young  Count's  arm,  and  finding  Calyste 
already  there,  his  horse  having  out-distanced  the  other  two 
carriages. 

"So  you  are  acquainted  with  this  gentleman  ?"  said  Calyste 
to  Beatrix  with  suppressed  fury. 


BEATRIX  323 

"Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la  Pal  ferine  was  introduced  to  me 
by  Nathan  ten  days  ago/'  said  Beatrix;  "and  you,  monsieur, 
have  known  me  for  four  years " 

"And  I  am  ready,  madame,"  said  la  Palferine,  "to  make 
Madame  d'Espard  repent  of  having  been  the  first  to  turn  her 
back  on  you — down  to  her  grandchildren " 

"Oh,  it  was  she  ?"  cried  Beatrix.     "I  will  pay  her  out/' 

"If  you  want  to  be  revenged,  you  must  win  back  your  hus- 
band, but  I  am  prepared  to  bring  him  back  to  you,"  said  la 
Palferine  in  her  ear. 

-  The  conversation  thus  begun  was  carried  on  till  two  in  the 
morning,  without  giving  Calyste  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
two  words  apart  to  Beatrix,  who  constantly  kept  his  rage  in 
subjection  by  her  glances.  La  Palferine,  who  was  not  in 
love  with  her,  was  as  superior  in  good  taste,  wit,  and  charm 
as  Calyste  was  beneath  himself;  writhing  on  his  seat  like  a 
worm  cut  in  two,  and  thrice  starting  to  his  feet  with  an  im- 
pulse to  stop  la  Palferine.  The  third  time  that  Calyste  flew 
at  his  rival,  the  Count  said,  "Are  you  in  pain,  monsieur?" 
in  a  tone  that  made  Calyste  sit  down  on  the  nearest  chair, 
and  remain  as  immovable  as  an  image. 

The  Marquise  chatted  with  the  light  ease  of  a  Celimene, 
ignoring  Calyste's  presence.  La  Palferine  was  so  supremely 
clever  as  to  depart  on  a  last  witty  speech,  leaving  the  two 
lovers  at  war. 

Thus,  by  Maxime's  skill,  the  flames  of  discord  were  raging 
in  the  divided  households  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Roche- 
fide. 

On  the  morrow,  having  heard  from  la  Palferine,  at  the 
Jockey  Club,  where  the  young  Count  was  playing  whist  with 
great  profit,  of  the  success  of  the  scene  he  had  plotted,  Maxime 
went  to  the  Hotel  Schontz  to  ascertain  how  Aurelie  was 
managing  her  affairs. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  cried  Madame  Schontz,  laughing  as  she 
saw  him,  "I  am  at  my  wits'  end.  I  am  closing  my  career 
with  the  discovery  that  it  is  a  misfortune  to  be  clever/' 

"Explain  your  meaning." 

"In  the  first  place,  my  dear  friend,  I  kept  my  Arthur  for 


324  BEATRIX 

a  week  on  a  regimen  of  kicking  his  shins,,  with  the  most 
patriotic  old  stories  and  the  most  unpleasant  discipline  known 
in  our  profession.  'You  are  ill/  said  he  with  fatherly  mild- 
ness, 'for  I  have  never  been  anything  but  kind  to  you,  and  I 
perfectly  adore  you.' — 'You  have  one  fault,  my  dear,'  said  I; 
'you  bore  me.' — 'Well,  but  have  you  not  all  the  cleverest  men 
and  the  handsomest  young  fellows  in  Paris  to  amuse  you?' 
said  the  poor  man.  I  was  shut  up.  Then  I  felt  that  I  loved 
him." 

"Hah  I"  said  Maxime. 

"What  is  to  be  done  ?  These  ways  are  too  much  for  us ;  it 
is  impossible  to  resist  them.  Then  I  changed  the  stop;  I 
made  eyes  at  that  wild  boar  of  a  lawyer,  my  future  husband, 
as  great  a  sheep  now  as  Arthur;  I  made  him  sit  there  in 
Eochefide's  armchair,  and  I  thought  him  a  perfect  fool.  How 
bored  I  was  ! — But,  of  course,  I  had  to  keep  Fabien  there  that 
we  might  be  discovered  together " 

"Well,"  cried  Maxime,  "get  on  with  your  story!  When 
Rochefide  found  you  together,  what  next  ?" 

"You  would  never  guess,  my  good  fellow.  By  your  in- 
structions the  banns  are  published,  the  marriage  contract  is 
being  drawn,  Notre-Dame  de  Lorette  is  out  of  court.  When 
it  is  a  case  of  matrimony,  something  may  be  paid  on  account. 
— When  he  found  us  together,  Fabien  and  me,  poor  Arthur 
stole  off  on  tiptoe  to  the  dining-room,  and  began  growling 
and  clearing  his  throat  and  knocking  the  chairs  about.  That 
great  gaby  Fabien,  to  whom  I  cannot  tell  everything,  was 
frightened,  and  that,  my  dear  Maxime,  is  the  point  we  have 
reached. — Why,  if  Arthur  should  find  the  couple  of  us  some 
morning  on  coming  into  my  room,  he  is  capable  of  saying, 
'Have  you  had  a  pleasant  night,  children  ?'  ' 

Maxime  nodded  his  head,  and  for  some  minutes  sat  twirling 
his  cane. 

"I  know  the  sort  of  man,"  said  he.  "This  is  what  you 
must  do;  there  is  no  help  for  it  but  to  throw  Arthur  out 
the  window  and  keep  the  door  tightly  shut,.  You  must  begin 
again  the  same  scene  with  Fabien " 


BEATRIX  325 

"How  intolerable !  For,  after  all,  you  see,  the  sacrament  has 
not  yet  blessed  me  with  virtue.  .  .  ." 

"You  must  contrive  to  catch  Arthur's  eye  when  he  finds 
you  together,"  Maxime  went  on;  "if  he  gets  angry,  there  is 
an  end  of  the  matter.  If  he  only  growls  as  before,  there  is 
yet  more  an  end  of  it." 

"How?" 

"Well,  you  must  be  angry;  you  must  say,  1  thought  you 
ioved  and  valued  me;  but  you  have  ceased  to  care  for  me; 

you  feel  no  jealousy /  but  you  know  it  all,  chapter  and 

verse. — 'Under  such  circumstances  Maxime'  (drag  me 
in)  'would  kill  his  man  on  the  spot'  (and  cry).  'And  Fabien' 
(make  him  ashamed  of  himself  by  comparing  him  with 
Fabien) — 'Fabien  would  have  a  dagger  ready  to  stab  you 
to  the  heart.  That  is  what  I  call  love !  There,  go !  Good- 
night, good-bye!  Take  back  your  house;  I  am  going  to 
marry  Fabien.  He  will  give  me  his  name,  he  will !  He  has 
thrown  over  his  old  mother !' — In  short,  you " 

"Of  course,  of  course!  I  will  be  magnificent!"  cried 
Madame  Schontz.  "Ah,  Maxime !  There  will  never  be  but 
one  Maxime,  as  there  never  was  but  one  de  Marsay." 

"La  Palferine  is  greater  than  I,"  said  de  Trailles  modestly. 
"He  is  getting  on  famously." 

"He  has  a  tongue,  but  you  have  backbone  and  a  grip.  How 
many  people  have  you  kept  going!  How  many  have  you 
doubled  up !" 

"La  Palferine  has  every  qualification ;  he  is  deep  and  well 
informed,  while  I  am  ignorant,"  replied  Maxime. — "I  have 
seen  Rastignac,  who  came  to  terms  at  once  with  the  Keeper 
of  the  Seals.  Fabien  will  be  made  President  of  the  Court 
and  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  after  a  year's  probation." 

"I  will  take  up  religion,"  replied  Madame  Schontz, 
emphasizing  the  phrase  so  as  to  win  an  approving  look  from 
Maxime. 

"Priests  are  worth  a  hundred  of  us !"  said  Maxime. 

"Eeally?"  said  Aurelie.  "Then  I  may  find  some  one  to 
talk  to  in  a  country  town. — I  have  begun  my  part.  Fabien 


326  BEATRIX 

has  already  told  his  mother  that  grace  has  dawned  on  me, 
and  he  has  bewitched  the  good  woman  with  my  million  and 
his  Presidency;  she  agrees  that  we  are  to  live  with  her;  she 
asked  for  a  portrait  of  me,  and  has  sent  me  hers;  if 
Love  were  to  look  at  it,  he  would  fall  backwards. — Go  then, 
Maximo ;  I  will  demolish  the  poor  man  this  evening.  It  goes 
to  my  heart." 

Two  days  later  la  Palferine  and  Maxime  met  at  the  door 
of  the  Jockey-Club. 

"It  is  done,"  said  Charles-^douard. 

The  words,  containing  a  whole  horrible  and  terrible  drama, 
such  as  vengeance  often  carries  out,  made  the  Comte  de 
Trailles  smile. 

"We  shall  have  all  de  Eochefide's  jeremiads,"  said  Maxime.^ 
"for  you  and  Aurelie  have  finished  together.  Aurelie  has 
turned  Arthur  out  of  doors,  and  now  we  must  get  hold  of 
him.  He  is  to  give  three  hundred  thousand  francs  to 
Madame  du  Eonceret  and  return  to  his  wife.  We  will  prove 
to  him  that  Beatrix  is  superior  to  Aurelie." 

"We  have  at  least  ten  days  before  us,"  said  Charles-fidouard 
sapiently,  "and  not  too  much  in  all  conscience;  for  now  I 
know  the  Marquise,  and  the  poor  man  will  be  handsomely 
fleeced." 

"What  will  you  do  when  the  bomb  bursts  ?" 

"We  can  always  be  clever  when  we  have  time  to  think  it 
out ;  I  am  grand  when  I  am  able  to  prepare  for  it." 

The  two  gamblers  went  into  the  drawing-room  together, 
and  found  the  Marquis  de  Eochefide  looking  two  years  older; 
he  had  no  stays  on;  he  had  sacrificed  his  elegance;  his  beard 
had  grown. 

"Well,  my  dear  Marquis  ?"  said  Maxime. 

"Oh,  my  dear  fellow,  my  life  is  broken  .  .  ."  and  for  ten 
minutes  Arthur  talked,  and  Maxime  gravely  listened ;  he  was 
thinking  of  his  marriage,  which  was  to  take  place  a  week 
hence. 

"My  dear  Arthur,  I  advised  you  of  the  only  means  I  knew 
of  to  keep  Aurelie,  and  you  did  not  choose  .  .  «" 


BEATRIX  327 

means?" 

"Did  I  not  advise  you  to  go  to  supper  with  Antonia  ?" 

"Quite  true. — How  can  I  help  it  ?  I  love  her. — And  you, 
you  make  love  as  Grisier  fences." 

"Listen  to  me,  Arthur;  give  her  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  for  her  little  house,  and  I  promise  you  I  will  find 
you  something  better.  I  will  speak  to  you  again  of  the  un- 
known fair  one  by  and  by;  I  see  d'Ajuda,  who  wants  to  say 
two  words  to  me." 

And  Maxime  left  the  inconsolable  man  to  talk  to  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  family  needing  consolation. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  other  Marquis  in  an  undertone, 
"the  Duchess  is  in  despair ;  Calyste  has  quietly  packed  up  and 
procured  a  passport.  Sabine  wants  to  follow  the  fugitives, 
catch  Beatrix,  and  claw  her.  She  is  expecting  another  child ; 
and  the  whole  thing  looks  rather  murderous,  for  she  has  gone 
quite  openly  and  bought  pistols." 

"Tell  the  Duchess  that  Madame  de  Kochefide  is  not  going, 
and  within  a  fortnight  the  whole  thing  will  be  settled.  Now, 
d'Ajuda,  T7our  hand  on  it  ?  Neither  you  nor  I  have  said  any- 
thing or  known  anything.  We  shall  admire  the  effects  of 
chance  " 

"The  Duchess  has  already  made  me  swear  secrecy  on  the 
Gospels  and  the  Cross." 

"You  will  receive  my  wife  a  month  hence?" 

"With  pleasure." 

"Everybody  will  be  satisfied,"  replied  Maxime.  "Only 
warn  the  Duchess  that  something  is  about  to  happen  which 
will  delay  her  departure  for  Italy  for  six  weeks;  it  concerns 
Monsieur  du  Guenic.  You  will  know  all  about  it  later." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  d'Ajuda,  who  was  looking  at  la 
Palferine. 

"Socrates  said  before  his  death,  *We  owe  a  cock  to 
.^sculapius.'  But  your  brother-in-law  will  be.  let  off  for  the 
comb,"  replied  la  Palferine  without  hesitation. 

For  ten  days  Calyste  endured  the  burthen  of  a  woman's 
anger,  all  the  more  implacable  because  it  was  seconded  by  a 


328  BEATRIX 

real  passion.  Beatrix  felt  that  form  of  love  so  roughly  but 
truly  described  to  the  Duchess  by  Maxime  de  Trailles.  Per- 
haps there  is  no  highly  organized  being  that  does  not  ex- 
perience this  overwhelming  passion  once  in  a  lifetime.  The 
Marquise  felt  herself  quelled  by  a  superior  force,  by  a  young 
man  who  was  not  impressed  by  her  rank,  who,  being  of  as 
noble  birth  as  herself,  could  look  at  her  with  a  calm  and  pow- 
erful eye,  and  from  whom  her  greatest  feminine  efforts  could 
scarcely  extract  a  smile  of  admiration.  Finally,  she  was 
crushed  by  a  tyrant,  who  always  left  her  bathed  in  tears, 
deeply  hurt,  and  believing  herself  wronged.  Charles-Edouard 
played  the  same  farce  on  Madame  de  Eochefide  that  she  had 
been  playing  these  six  months  on  Calyste. 

Since  the  scene  of  her  mortification  at  the  Italiens,  Beatrix 
had  adhered  to  one  formula : 

"You  preferred  the  world  and  your  wife  to  me,  so  you 
do  not  love  me.  If  you  wish  to  prove  that  you  do  love  me, 
sacrifice  your  wife  and  the  world.  Give  up  Sabine,  leave  her, 
and  let  us  go  to  live  in  Switzerland,  in  Italy,  or  in  Germany/' 

Justifying  herself  by  this  cool  ultimatum,  she  had  es- 
tablished the  sort  of  blockade  which  women  carry  into  effect 
by  cold  looks,  scornful  shrugs,  and  a  face  like  a  stone  citadel. 
She  believed  herself  rid  of  Calyste;  she  thought  he  would 
never  venture  on  a  breach  with  the  Grandlieus.  To  give  up 
Sabine,  to  whom  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  given  her 
fortune,  meant  poverty  for  him. 

However,  Calyste,  mad  with  despair,  had  secretly  procured 
a  passport,  and  begged  his  mother  to  forward  him  a  con- 
siderable sum.  While  waiting  for  the  money  to  reach  him,  he 
kept  watch  over  Beatrix,  himself  a  victim  to  the  jealousy  of  a 
Breton.  At  last,  nine  days  after  the  fateful  communication 
made  by  la  Palferine  to  Maxime  at  the  club,  the  Baron,  to 
whom  his  mother  had  sent  thirty  thousand  francs,  flew  to  the 
Kue  de  Courcelles,  determined  to  force  the  blockade,  to  turn 
out  la  Palferine,  and  to  leave  Paris  with  his  idol  appeased. 

This  was  one  of  those  fearful  alternatives  when  a  woman 
who  has  preserved  a  fragment  of  self-respect  may  sink  for 


BEATRIX  329 

ever  into  the  depths  of  vice,  but  may,  on  the  other  hand,  re- 
turn to  virtue.  Hitherto  Madame  de  Kochefide  had  regarded 
herself  as  a  virtuous  woman,  whose  heart  had  been  invaded  by 
two  passions;  but  to  love  Charles-Edouard,  and  allow  herself 
to  be  loved  by  Calyste,  would  wreck  her  self-esteem ;  for  where 
falsehood  begins,  infamy  begins.  She  had  granted  rights  to 
Calyste,  and  no  human  power  could  hinder  the  Breton  from 
throwing  himself  at  her  feet  and  watering  them  with  the 
tears  of  abject  repentance.  Many  persons  wonder  to  see  the 
icy  insensibility  under  which  women  smother  their  passions; 
but  if  they  could  not  thus  blot  out  the  past,  life  for  them 
would  be  bereft  of  dignity;  they  could  never  escape  from  the 
inevitable  collusion  to  which  they  had  once  succumbed. 

In  her  entirely  new  position  Beatrix  would  have  been  saved 
if  la  Palferine  had  come  to  her;  but  old  Antoine's  alertness 
was  her  ruin. 

On  hearing  a  carriage  stop  at  the  door,  she  exclaimed  to 
Calyste,  "Here  are  visitors !"  and  she  hurried  away  to  prevent 
a  catastrophe. 

Antoine,  a  prudent  man,  replied  to  Charles-fidouard,  who 
had  called  solely  to  hear  these  very  words,  "Madame  is  gone 
rat." 

When  Beatrix  heard  from  the  old  servant  that  the  young 
Count  had  called,  and  what  he  had  been  told,  she  said,  "Quite 
right,"  and  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  saying  to  herself, 
"I  will  be  a  nun !" 

Calyste,  who  had  made  so  bold  as  to  open  the  window, 
caught  sight  of  his  rival. 

"Who  was  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  do  not  know;  Antoine  has  not  come  up  yet/' 

"It  was  la  Palferine " 

"Very  possibly." 

"You  love  him,  and  that  is  why  you  find  fault  with  me. — 
I  saw  him !" 

"You  saw  him?" 

"I  opened  the  window." 

Beatrix  dropped  half  dead  on  the  sofa.     Then  she  tried  to 


330  BEATRIX 

temporize  to  save  the  future;  she  put  off  their  departure  foi 
ten  days  on  the  plea  of  business,  and  vowed  to  herself  that  she 
would  close  her  door  against  Calyste  if  only  she  could  pacif} 
la  Palferine,  for  these  are  the  horrible  compromises  and  burn- 
ing torments  that  underlie  lives  that  have  gone  off  the  rails 
on  which  the  great  train  of  Society  runs. 

As  soon  as  Beatrix  was  alone  she  felt  so  miserable,  sc 
deeply  humiliated,  that  she  went  to  bed ;  she  was  ill ;  the  fear- 
ful struggle  that  rent  her  heart  seemed  to  leave  a  horrible  re- 
action, and  she  sent  for  the  doctor ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  she 
despatched  to  la  Palferine  the  following  note,  in  which  she 
avenged  herself  on  Calyste  with  a  sort  of  frenzy : — 

"Come  to  see  me,  my  friend,  I  am  in  desperation.  Antoine 
turned  you  away  when  your  visit  would  have  put  an  end  tc 
one  of  the  most  horrible  nightmares  of  my  life,  by  rescuing 
me  from  a  man  I  hate,  whom  1  hope  never  to  see  again 
I  love  no  one  on  earth  but  you,  and  I  never  shall  love  any  one 
but  you,  though  I  am  so  unhappy  as  not  to  please  you  so  much 
as  I  could  wish  .  .  " 

She  covered  four  pages,  which,  having  begun  thus,  ended  in 
a  rhapsody  far  too  poetical  to  be  reproduced  in  print,  in  which 
Beatrix  so  effectually  compromised  herself,  that  in  conclusion 
she  said: 

"Am  I  not  wholly  at  your  mercy?  Ah,  no  price  would  be 
too  great  for  me  to  prove  how  dearly  you  are  loved  I" 

And  she  signed  her  name,  a  thing  she  had  never  done  for 
either  Calyste  or  Conti. 

On  trie  following  day,  when  the  young  Count  called  on  the 
Marquise,  she  was  taking  a  bath.  Antoine  begged  him  to 
wait.  But  he  dismissed  Calyste  in  his  turn,  when,  starving 
with  passion,  he  also  came  early;  and  la  Palferine  could  see 
him  as  he  got  into  his  carriage  again  in  despair. 

"Oh,  Charles,"  said  the  Marquise  coming  into  the  drawing- 
room,  "you  have  ruined  me !" 

"I  know  it,  madame,"  replied  he  coolly.    "You  swore  that 


BEATRIX  331 

yon  loved  me  alone,  you  offered  to  give  me  a  letter  in  which 
you  will  set  down  the  reasons  you  would  have  had  for  killing 
yourself,  so  that  in  the  event  of  your  being  unfaithful  to  me 
I  might  poison  you  without  fear  of  human  justice — as  if 
superior  'souls  needed  to  resort  to  poison  to  avenge  them- 
selves!— You  wrote,  'No  price  would  be  too  great  for  me  to 
prove  how  dearly  you  are  loved !' — Well,  I  find  a  contradiction 
between  these  closing  words  of  your  letter  and  your  speech, 
'You  have  ruined  me/  I  will  know  now  whether  you  have 
had  the  courage  to  break  with  du  Guenic." 

"You  are  revenged  on  him  beforehand/'  said  she  throwing 
her  arms  round  his  neck.  "And  that  matter  is  enough  to 

bind  you  and  me  for  ever " 

•  "Madame/'  said  the  Prince  of  bohemia  coldly,  "if  you  de- 
sire my  friendship,  I  consent;  but  there  are  conditions " 

"Conditions?" 

"Yes.  conditions — as  follows :  You  must  be  reconciled  with 
Monsieur  de  Eochefide,  resume  the  honors  of  your  position, 
return  to  your  fine  house  in  the  Eue  d'Anjou — you  will  be 
one  of  the  queens  of  Paris.  You  can  achieve  this  by  making 
Eochefide  play  a  part  in  politics  and  guiding  your  conduct 
with  such  skill  and  tenacity  as  Madame  d'Espard  has  dis- 
played. This  is  the  position  which  any  woman  must  fill 
whom  I  am  to  honor  with  my  devotion " 

"But  you  forget  that  Monsieur  de  Eochefide's  consent  is 
necessary." 

"Oh,  my  dear  child,"  replied  la  Palferine,  "we  have  pre- 
pared him  for  it.  I  have  pledged  my  honor  as  a  gentleman 
that  you  were  worth  all  the  Schontzes  of  the  Quartier  Saint- 
Georges  put  together,  and  you  owe  it  to  my  honor " 

For  eight  days,  every  day,  Calyste  called  on  Beatrix, 
and  was  invariably  sent  away  by  Antoine,  who  put  on  a 
grave  face  and  assured  him,  "Madame  la  Marquise  is  seriously 
ill." 

From  thence  Calyste  rushed  off  to  la  Palferine,  whose 
servant  always  exclaimed,  "Monsieur  le  Comte  is  gone  hunt- 
ing." And  each  time  Calyste  left  a  letter  for  the  Count. 


332  BEATRIX 

At  last,  on  the  ninth  day,  Calyste,  in  reply  to  a  note  from 
la  Palferine  fixing  a  time  for  an  explanation,  found  him  at 
home,  but  with  him  Maxime  de  Trailles,  to  whom  the  younger 
rake  wished,  no  doubt,  to  give  proof  of  his  abilities  by  getting 
him  to  witness  the  scene. 

"Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Charles-Edouard  quietly,  "here 
are  the  six  notes  you  have  done  me  the  honor  of  writing  to 
me.  They  are  unopened,  just  as  you  sent  them;  I  knew  be- 
forehand what  might  be  in  them  when  I  heard  that  you  had 
been  seeking  me  everywhere  since  the  day  when  I  looked  at 
you  out  of  the  window,  while  you  were  at  the  door  of  a  house 
where,  on  the  previous  day,  I  had  been  at  the  door  while  you 
were  at  the  window.  I  thought  it  best  to  remain  ignorant  of 
an  ill-judged  challenge.  Between  you  and  me,  you  have  too 
much  good  taste  to  owe  a  woman  a  grudge  because  she  has 
ceased  to  love  you.  And  to  fight  your  preferred  rival  is  a  bad 
way  to  reinstate  yourself. 

"Also,  in  the  present  case,  your  letters  were  invalidated, 
null  and  void,  as  lawyers  say,  in  consequence  of  a  radical 
error:  you  have  too  much  good  sense  to  quarrel  with  a  hus- 
band for  taking  back  his  wife.  Monsieur  de  Rochefide  feels 
the  Marquise's  position  is  undignified.  You  will  no  longer 
find  Madame  de  Rochefide  in  the  Rue  de  Courcelles;  six 
months  hence,  next  winter,  you  will  see  her  in  her  husband's 
home.  You  very  rashly  thrust  yourself  'into  the  midst  of  a 
^reconciliation  between  a  married  couple  to  which  you  your- 
self gave  rise  by  failing  to  shelter  Madame  de  Rochefide 
from  the  mortification  she  endured  at  the  opera-house.  As 
we  left,  Beatrix,  to  whom  I  had  already  brought  some  friendly 
advances  on  her  husband's  part,  took  me  in  her  carriage,  and 
her  first  words  were,  'Go  and  bring  Arthur !' 

"Oh,  Heavens !"  cried  Calyste,  "she  was  right ;  I  had  failed 
in  my  devotion " 

"But,  unfortunately,  monsieur,  poor  Arthur  was  living 
with  one  of  those  dreadful  women — that  Madame  Schontz, 
who  for  a  long  time  had  expected  every  hour  to  find  herself 
deserted.  Madame  Schontz,  who,  on  the  strength  of  Beatrix's 


•    BEATRIX  33S 

complexion,  cherished  a  desire  to  see  herself  some  day  the  Mar- 
quise de  Rochefide,  was  furious  when  she  saw  her  castles  in 
•the  air  fallen.  Those  women,  monsieur,  will  lose  an  eye  if 
they  can  spoil  two  for  an  enemy;  la  Schontz,  who  has  just 
left  Paris,  has  been  the  instrument  of  spoiling  six !  And  if 
I  had  been  so  rash  as  to  love  Beatrix,  the  sum-total  would 
have  been  eight.  You,  monsieur,  must  have  discovered  that 
you  need  an  oculist." 

Maxime  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  change  in  Calyste's 
face ;  he  turned  pale  as  his  eyes  were  opened  to  the  situation. 

"Would  you  believe,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  that  that  wretched 
woman  has  consented  to  marry  the  man  who  furnished  her 
with  means  of  revenge  ?  Oh !  women ! — You  understand  now 
why  Beatrix  should  shut  herself  up  with  Arthur  for  a  few 
months  at  Nogent-sur-Marne,  where  they  have  a  charming 
little  house;  they  will  recover  their  sight  there.  Meanwhile 
their  house  will  be  entirely  redecorated;  the  Marquise  means 
to  display  a  princely  style  of  splendor.  When  a  man  is  sin- 
cerely in  love  with  so  noble  a  woman,  so  great,  so  exquisite, 
the  victim  of  conjugal  devotion,  as  soon  as  she  has  the  courage 
to  return  to  her  duties  as  a  wife,  the  part  of  those  who  adore 
her  as  you  do,  who  admire  her  as  I  do,  is  to  remain  her  friends 
when  they  can  be  nothing  more. 

"You  will  forgive  me  for  having  thought  it  well  to  invite 
Monsieur  de  Trailles  to  be  present  at  this  explanation,  but  I 
was  particularly  anxious  to  make  this  all  perfectly  clear.  For 
my  part,  I  especially  wished  to  assure  you  that,  though  I  ad- 
mire Madame  de  Rochefide's  cleverness  as  a  woman,  she  is  to 
me  supremely  odious." 

"And  that  is  what  our  fairest  dreams,  our  celestial  loves 
end  in,"  said  Calyste,  overwhelmed  by  so  many  revelations 
and  disenchantments. 

"In  a  fish's  tail,"  cried  Maxime,  "or,  which  is  worse,  in  an 
apothecary's  gallipot !  I  have  never  known  a  first  love  that  did 
not  end  idiotically.  Ah,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  whatever  there 
may  be  that  is  heavenly  in  man  finds  its  nourishment  in 
Heaven  alone !  This  is  the  excuse  for  us  rakes.  I,  monsieur, 


334  BEATRIX 

have  gone  deeply  into  the  question,  and,  as  you  see,  I  am  just 
married.  I  shall  be  faithful  to  my  wife,  and  I  would  urge  you 
to  return  to  Madame  du  Guenic — but — three  months  hence. 

"Do  not  regret  Beatrix;  she  is  a  pattern  of  those  vain  na- 
tures, devoid  of  energ}r,  but  flirts  out  of  vainglory — a  Madame 
d'Espard  without  political  faculty,  a  woman  devoid  of  heart 
and  brain,  frivolous  in  wickedness.  Madame  de  Eochefide 
loves  no  one  but  Madame  de  Eochefide;  she  would  have  in- 
volved you  in  an  irremediable  quarrel  with  Madame  du 
Guenic,  and  then  have  thrown  you  over  without  a  qualm;  in 
fact,  she  is  as  inadequate  for  vice  as  for  virtue/7 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you,  Maxime,"  said  la  Palf erine ;  "she 
will  be  the  most  delightful  mistress  of  a  great  house  in  all 
Paris." 

Calyste  did  not  leave  the  house  without  shaking  hands  with 
Charles-^douard  and  Maxime  de  Trailles,  thanking  them  for 
having  cured  him  of  his  illusions. 

Three  days  later  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu,  who  had  not 
seen  her  daughter  Sabine  since  the  morning  of  the  great  con- 
ference, called  one  morning  and  found  Calyste  in  his  bath- 
room. Sabine  was  sewing  at  some  new  finery  for  her  baby- 
clothes. 

"Well,  how  are  you  children  getting  on?"  asked  the  kind 
Duchess. 

"As  well  as  possible,  dear  mamma,"  replied  Sabine,  looking 
at  her  mother  with  eyes  bright  with  happiness.  "We  have 
acted  out  the  fable  of  the  Two  Pigeons — that  is  all." 

Calyste  held  out  his  hand  to  his  wife  and  pressed  hers  iea« 
derly. 

1838-1844. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

AND 
THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  two  stories  of  Les  Rivalites  are  more  closely  connected 
than  it  was  always  Balzac's  habit  to  connect  the  tales  which 
he  united  under  a  common  heading.  Not  only  are  both  de- 
voted to  the  society  of  Alengon — a  town  and  neighborhood 
to  which  he  had  evidently  strong,  though  it  is  not  clearly 
known  what,  attractions — not  only  is  the  Chevalier  de  Valois 
a  notable  figure  in  each ;  but  the  community,  imparted  by  the 
elaborate  study  of  the  old  noblesse  in  each  case,  is  even  greater 
than  either  of  these  ties  could  give.  Indeed,  if  instead  of 
Les  Rivalites  the  author  had  chosen  some  label  indicating 
the  study  of  the  noblesse  qui  s'en  va,  it  might  almost  have 
been  preferable.  He  did  not,  however;  and  though  in  a  man 
who  so  constantly  changed  his  titles  and  his  arrangements 
the  actual  ones  are  not  excessively  authoritative,  they  have 
authority. 

La  Vieille  Fille,  despite  a  certain  tone  of  levity — which, 
to  do  Balzac  justice,  is  not  common  with  him,  and  which 
is  rather  hard  upon  the  poor  heroine — is  one  of  the  best  and 
liveliest  things  he  ever  did.  The  opening  picture  of  the 
Chevalier,  though,  like  other  things  of  its  author's,  especially 
in  his  overtures,  liable  to  the  charge  of  being  elaborated  a 
little  too  much,  is  one  of  the  very  best  things  of  its  kind,  and 
is  a  sort  of  locus  classicus  for  its  subject.  The  whole  picture 
of  country  town  society  is  about  as  good  as  it  can  be;  and 
the  only  blot  that  I  know  is  to  be  found  in  the  sentimental 
Athanase,  who  was  not  quite  within  Balzac's  province,  ex- 

(vii) 


viti  INTRODUCTION 

tensive  as  that  province  is.  If  we  compare  Mr.  Augustus 
Moddle,  we  shall  see  one  of  the  not  too  numerous  instances 
in  which  Dickens  has  a  clear  advantage  over  Balzac;  and 
if  it  be  retorted  that  Balzac's  object  was  not  to  present  a 
merely  ridiculous  object,  the  rejoinder  is  not  very  far  to  seek. 
Such  a  character,  with  such  a  fate  as  Balzac  has  assigned  to 
him,  must  be  either  humorously  grotesque  or  unfeignedly 
pathetic,  and  Balzac  has  not  quite  made  Athanase  either. 

He  is,  however,  if  he  is  a  failure,  about  the  only  failure  in 
the  book,  and  he  is  atoned  for  by  a  whole  bundle  of  successes. 
Of  the  Chevalier,  little  more  need  be  said.  Balzac,  it 
must  be  remembered,  was  the  oldest  novelist  of  distinct 
genius  who  had  the  opportunity  of  delineating  the  survivors 
of  the  ancien  regime  from  the  life,  and  directly.  It  is  certain 
— even  if  we  hesitate  at  believing  him  quite  so  familiar  with 
all  the  classes  of  higher  society  from  the  Faubourg  down- 
wards, as  he  would  have  us  believe  him — that  he  saw  some- 
thing of  most  of  them,  and  his  genius  was  unquestionably 
of  the  kind  to  which  a  mere  thumbnail  study,  a  mere  passing 
view,  suffices  for  the  acquisition  of  a  thorough  working 
knowledge  of  the  object.  In  this  case  the  Chevalier  has 
served,  and  not  improperly  served,  as  the  original  of  a  thou- 
sand after-studies.  His  rival,  less  carefully  projected,  is  also 
perhaps  a  little  less  alive.  Again,  Balzac  was  old  enough 
to  have  foregathered  with  many  men  of  the  Kevolution.  But 
the  most  characteristic  of  them  were  not  long-lived,  the 
"little  window"  and  other  things  having  had  a  bad  effect  on 
them;  and  most  of  those  who  survived  had,  by  the  time  he 
was  old  enough  to  take  much  notice,  gone  through  metamor- 
phoses of  Bonapartism,  Constitutional  Liberalism,  and  what 
not.  But  still  du  Bousquier  is  alive,  as  well  as  all  the  minor 


INTRODUCTION  Ix 

assistants  and  spectators  in  the  battle  for  the  old  maid's  hand. 
Suzanne,  that  tactful  and  graceless  Suzanne  to  whom  we  are 
introduced  first  of  all,  is  very  much  alive;  and  for  all  her 
gracelessness,  not  at  all  disagreeable.  I  am  only  sorry  that 
she  sold  the  counterfeit  presentment  of  the  Princess  Goritza 
after  all. 

Le  Cabinet  des  Antiques,  in  its  Alengon  scenes,  is  a  worthy 
pendant  to.  La  Vieille  Fille.  The  old-world  honor  of  the 
Marquis  d'Esgrignon,  the  thankless  sacrifices  of  Armande, 
the  prisca  fides  of  Maitre  Chesnel,  present  pictures  for  which, 
out  of  Balzac,  we  can  look  only  in  Jules  Sandeau,  and  which 
in  Sandeau,  though  they  are  presented  with  a  more  poetical 
touch,  have  less  masterly  outline  than  here.  One  takes — or, 
at  least,  I  take — less  interest  in  the  ignoble  intrigues  of  the 
other  side,  except  in  so  far  as  they  menace  the  fortunes  of  a 
worthy  house  unworthily  represented.  Victurnien  d'Es- 
grignon, like  his  companion,  Savinien  de  Portenduere  (who, 
however,  is,  in  every  respect,  a  very  much  better  fellow),  does 
not  argue  in  Balzac  any  high  opinion  of  the  fils  de  famitte. 
He  is,  in  fact,  an  extremely  feeble  youth,  who  does  not  seem  to 
have  got  much  real  satisfaction  out  of  the  escapades,  for 
which  he  risked  not  merely  his  family's  fortune,  but  his  own 
honor,  and  who  would  seem  to  have  been  a  rake,  not  from 
natural  taste  and  spirit  and  relish,  but  because  it  seemed  to 
him  to  be  the  proper  thing  to  be.  But  the  beginnings  of  the 
fortune  of  the  aspiring  and  intriguing  Camusots  are  ad- 
mirably painted ;  and  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  that  rather 
doubtful  divinity,  who  appears  so  frequently  in  Balzac,  here 
acts  the  dea  ex  machina  with  considerable  effect.  And  we  end 
well  (as  we  generally  do  when  Blondet,  whom  Balzac  seems 
more  than  once  to  adopt  as  mask,  is  the  narrator),  in  the 


r  INTRODUCTION 

last  glimpse  of  Mile.  Armande  left  alone  with  the  remains 
of  her  beauty,  the  ruins  of  everything  dear  to  her — and 
God. 

These  two  stories  were  written  at  no  long  interval,  yet, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  Balzac  did  not  at  once  unite  them. 
La  Vieille  Fille  first  appeared  in  November  and  December 
1836  in  the  Presse,  and  was  inserted  next  year  in  the  Scenes 
de  la  Vie  de  Province.  It  had  three  chapter  divisions.  The 
second  part  did  not  appear  all  at  once.  Its  first  instalment, 
under  the  general  title,  came  out  in  the  Chronique  de  Paris 
even  before  the  Vieille  Fille  appeared  in  March  1836;  the 
completion  was  not  published  (under  the  title  of  Les  Rivalries 
en  Province)  till  the  autumn  of  1838,  when  the  Constitu- 
tionnel  served  as  its  vehicle.  There  were  eight  chapter  divi- 
sions in  this  latter.  The  whole  of  the  Cabinet  was  published 
in  book  form  (with  Gambara  to  follow  it)  in  1839.  There 
were  some  changes  here;  and  the  divisions  were  abolished 
when  the  whole  book  in  1844  entered  the  Comedie.  One  of 
the  greatest  mistakes  which,  in  my  humble  judgment,  the 
organizers  of  the  edition  definitive  have  made,  is  their  adop- 
tion of  Balzac's  never  executed  separation  of  the  pair  and 
deletion  of  the  excellent  joint-title  Les  Rivalries. 

L' Inter  diction  belongs  with  the  Honorine  group  in  Scenes 
de  la  Vie  Privee,  being  placed  here  for  purpose  of  con- 
venience. It  is  good  in  its  own  way.  It  is  indeed  impossible 
to  say  that  there  is  not  in  the  manner,  though  perhaps  there 
may  be  none  in  the  fact,  of  the  Marquis  d'Espard's  restitu- 
tion, and  the  rest  of  it,  a  little  touch  of  the  madder  side  of 
Quixotism;  and  one  sees  all  the  speculative  and  planning 
Balzac  in  that  notable  scheme  of  the  great  work  on  China, 
which  brought  in  far,  far  more,  I  fear,  than  any  work  on 


INTRODUCTION  Xl 

China  ever  has  or  is  likely  to  bring  in  to  its  devisers.  But 
the  conduct  of  Popinot,  in  his  interview  with  the  Marquise, 
is  really  admirable.  The  great  scenes  of  fictitious  finesse 
do  not  always  "come  off ;"  we  do  not  invariably  find  ourselves 
experiencing  that  sense  of  the  ability  of  his  characters  which 
the  novelist  appears  to  entertain,  and  expects  us  to  entertain 
likewise.  But  this  is  admirable;  it  is,  with  Charles  de 
Bernard's  Le  Gendre,  perhaps  the  very  best  thing  of  the  kind 
to  be  found  anywhere.  This  story  would  serve  to  show  any 
intelligent  critic  that  genius  of  no  ordinary  kind  had  passed 
that  way. 

L' Interdiction  first  appeared  in  the  Chronique  de  Paris 
in  1836;  was  at  first  separated  from  the  Etudes  Philoso- 

pfiiques  to  be  a  Scene  de  la  Vie  Parisienne.  G.  S. 

VOL.  7 — 23 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

THE   OLD   MAID 

To  M.  EugSne  Auguste  Georges  Louis  Midy  de  la  Greneraye 
Surville,  Civil  Engineer  of  the  Corps  Royal,  a  token  of  affection 
from  bis  brother-in-law.  DE  BALZAC. 

PLENTY  of  people  must  have  come  across  at  least  one 
Chevalier  de  Valois  in  the  provinces;  there  was  one  in 
Normandy,  another  was  extant  at  Bourges,  a  third  flourished 
at  Alengon  in  the  year  1816,  and  the  South  very  likely  pos- 
sessed one  of  its  own.  But  we  are  not  here  concerned  with 
the  numbering  of  the  Valois  tribe.  Some  of  them,  no  doubt, 
were  about  as  much  of  Valois  as  Louis  XIV.  was  a  Bourbon; 
and  every  Chevalier  was  so  slightly  acquainted  with  the  rest, 
that  it  was  anything  but  politic  to  mention  one  of  them  when 
speaking  to  another.  All  of  them,  however,  agreed  to  leave 
the  Bourbons  in  perfect  tranquillity  on  the  throne  of  France, 
for  it  is  a  little  too  well  proven  that  Henri  IV.  succeeded  to 
the  crown  in  default  of  heirs  male  in  the  Orleans,  otherwise 
the  Valois  branch ;  so  that  if  any  Valois  exist  at  all,  they  must 
be  descendants  of  Charles  of  Valois,  Duke  of  Angouleme,  and 
Marie  Touchet;  and  even  there  the  direct  line  was  extinct 
(unless  proof  to  the  contrary  is  forthcoming)  in  the  person 
of  the  Abbe  de  Eothelin.  As  for  the  Valois  Saint-Remy, 
descended  from  Henri  II.,  they  likewise  came  to  an  end  with 
the  too  famous  Lamothe- Valois  of  the  Diamond  Necklace 
affair. 

Every  one  of  the  Chevaliers,  if  information  is  correct,  was, 
like  the  Chevalier  of  Alengon,  an  elderly  noble,  tall,  lean,  and 
without  fortune.  The  Bourges  Chevalier  had  emigrated,  the 

U) 


2       THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Touraine  Valois  went  into  hiding  during  the  Kevolution,  and 
the  Alencon  Chevalier  was  mixed  up  in  the  Vendean  war, 
and  implicated  to  some  extent  in  Chouannerie.  The  last- 
named  gentleman  spent  the  most  part  of  his  youth  in  Paris, 
where,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  the  Eevolution  broke  in  upon  his 
career  of  conquests.  Accepted  as  a  true  Valois  by  persons 
of  the  highest  quality  in  his  province,  the  Chevalier  de  Valois 
d'Alengon  (like  his  namesakes)  was  remarkable  for  his  fine 
manners,  and  had  evidently  been  accustomed  to  move  in  the 
best  society. 

He  dined  out  every  day,  and  played  cards  of  an  evening, 
and,  thanks  to  one  of  his  weaknesses,  was  regarded  as  a  great 
wit;  he  had  a  habit  9f  relating  a  host  of  anecdotes  of  the 
times  of  Louis  Quinze,  and  those  who  heard  his  stories  for  the 
first  time  thought  them  passably  well  narrated.  The  Chevalier 
de  Valois,  moreover,  had  one  virtue ;  he  refrained  from  repeat- 
ing his  own  good  sayings,  and  never  alluded  to  his  conquests, 
albeit  his  smiles  and  airs  were  delightfully  indiscreet.  The 
old  gentleman  took  full  advantage  of  the  old-fashioned 
Voltairean  noble's  privilege  of  staying  away  from  Mass,  but 
his  irreligion  was  very  tenderly  dealt  with  out  of  regard  for 
his  devotion  to  the  Eoyalist  cause. 

One  of  his  most  remarkable  graces  (Mole  must  have 
learned  it  of  him)  was  his  way  of  taking  snuff  from  an  old- 
fashioned  snuff-box  with  a  portrait  of  a  lady  on  the  lid.  The 
Princess  Goritza,  a  lovely  Hungarian,  had  been  famous  for 
her  beauty  towards  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XV. ;  and 
the  Chevalier  could  never  speak  without  emotion  of  the 
foreign  great  lady  whom  he  loved  in  his  youth,  for  whom  he 
had  fought  a  duel  with  M.  de  Lauzun. 

But  by  this  time  the  Chevalier  had  lived  fifty-eight  years, 
and  if  he  owned  to  but  fifty  of  them,  he  might  safely  indulge 
himself  in  that  harmless  deceit.  Thin,  fair-complcxioned 
men,  among  other  privileges,  retain  that  youthfulness  of  shape 
which  in  men,  as  in  women,  contributes  as  much  as  anything 
to  stave  off  any  appearance  of  age.  And,  indeed,  it  is  a  fact 
that  all  the  life,  or  rather,  all  the  grace,  which  is  the  expres- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  3 

sion  of  life,  lies  in  the  figure.  Among  the  Chevalier's  per- 
sonal traits,  mention  must  be  made  of  the  portentous  nose 
with  which  Nature  had  endowed  him.  It  cut  a  pallid 
countenance  sharply  into  two  sections  which  seemed  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  each  other;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  only 
one-half  of  his  face  would  flush  with  the  exertion  of  digestion 
after  dinner;  all  the  glow  being  confined  to  the  left  side,  a 
phenomenon  worthy  of  note  in  times  when  physiology  is  so 
much  occupied  with  the  human  heart.  M.  de  Valois'  health 
was  not  apparently  robust,  judging  by  his  long,  thin  legs, 
lean  frame,  and  sallow  complexion;  but  he  ate  like  an  ogre, 
alleging,  doubtless  by  way  of  excuse  for  his  voracity,  that  he 
suffered  from  a  complaint  known  in  the  provinces  as  a  "hot 
liver."  The  flush  on  his  left  cheek  confirmed  the  story;  but 
in  a  land  where  meals  are  developed  on  the  lines  of  thirty  or 
forty  dishes,  and  last  for  four  hours  at  a  stretch,  the 
Chevalier's  abnormal  appetite  might  well  seem  to  be  a  special 
mark  of  the  favor  of  Providence  vouchsafed  to  the  good  town. 
That  flush  on  the  left  cheek,  according  to  divers  medical 
authorities,  is  a  sign  of  prodigality  of  heart ;  and,  indeed,  the 
Chevalier's  past  record  of  gallantry  might  seem  to  confirm 
a  professional  dictum  for  which  the  present  chronicler  (most 
fortunately)  is  in  nowise  responsible.  But  in  spite  of  these 
symptoms,  M.  de  Valois  was  of  nervous  temperament,  and  in 
consequence  long-lived;  and  if  his  liver  was  hot,  to  use  the 
old-fashioned  phrase,  his  heart  was  not  a  whit  less  inflamma- 
ble. If  there  was  a  line  worn  here  and  there  in  his  face,  and 
a  silver  thread  or  so  in  his  hair,  an  experienced  eye  would 
have  discerned  in  these  signs  and  tokens  the  stigmata  of 
desire,  the  furrows  traced  by  past  pleasure.  And,  in  fact,  in 
his  face,  the  unmistakable  marks  of  the  crow's  foot  and  the 
serpent's  tooth  took  the  shape  of  the  delicate  wrinkles  so 
prized  at  the  court  of  Cytherea. 

Everything  about  the  gallant  Chevalier  revealed  the  "ladies' 
man."  So  minutely  careful  was  he  over  his  ablutions,  that 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  see  his  cheeks;  they  might  have  been 
brushed  over  with  some  miraculous  water.  That  portion  of 


4      THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

his  head  which  the  hair  refused  to  hide  from  view  shone  like 
ivory.  His  eyebrows,  like  his  hair,  had  a  youthful  look,  so 
carefully  was  their  growth  trained  and  regulated  by  the  comb. 
A  naturally  fair  skin  seemed  to  be  yet  further  whitened  by 
some  mysterious  preparation;  and  while  the  Chevalier  never 
used  scent,  there  was  about  him,  as  it  were,  a  perfume  of 
youth  which  enhanced  the  freshness  of  his  looks.  His  hands, 
that  told  of  race,  were  as  carefully  kept  as  if  they  belonged 
to  some  coxcomb  of  the  gentler  sex ;  you  could  not  help  notic- 
ing those  rose-pink  neatly-trimmed  finger-nails.  Indeed,  but 
for  his  lordly  superlative  nose,  the  Chevalier  would  have 
looked  like  a  doll. 

It  takes  some  resolution  to  spoil  this  portrait  with  the  ad- 
mission of  a  foible ;  the  Chevalier  put  cotton  wool  in  his  ears, 
and  still  continued  to  wear  ear-rings — two  tiny  negroes'  heads 
set  with  brilliants.  They  were  of  admirable  workmanship, 
it  is  true,  and  their  owner  was  so  far  attached  to  the  singular 
appendages,  that  he  used  to  justify  his  fancy  by  saying  "that 
his  sick  headaches  had  left  him  since  his  ears  were  pierced." 
He  used  to  suffer  from  sick  headaches.  The  Chevalier  is  not 
held  up  as  a  flawless  character;  but  even  if  an  old  bachelor's 
heart  sends  too  much  blood  to  his  face,  is  he  never  therefore 
to  be  forgiven  for  his  adorable  absurdities?  Perhaps  (who 
knows?)  there  are  sublime  secrets  hidden  away  beneath  them. 
And  besides,  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  made  amends  for  his 
negroes'  heads  with  such  a  variety  of  other  and  different 
charms,  that  society  ought  to  have  felt  itself  sufficiently  com- 
pensated. He  really  was  at  great  pains  to  conceal  his  age  and 
to  make  himself  agreeable. 

First  and  foremost,  witness  the  extreme  care  which  he  gave 
to  his  linen,  the  one  distinction  in  dress  which  a  gentleman 
may  permit  himself  in  modern  days.  The  Chevalier's  linen 
was  invariably  fine  and  white,  as  befitted  a  noble.  His  coat, 
though  remarkably  neat,  was  always  somewhat  worn,  but  spot- 
less and  uncreased.  The  preservation  of  this  garment 
bordered  on  the  miraculous  in  the  opinion  of  those  who 
noticed  the  Chevalier's  elegant  indifference  on  this  head ;  not 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  5 

that  he  went  so  far  as  to  scrape  his  clothes  with  broken  glass 
(a  refinement  invented  by  the  Prince  of  Wales),  but  he  set 
himself  to  carry  out  the  first  principles  of  dress  as  laid  down 
by  Englishmen  of  the  very  highest  and  finest  fashion,  and  this 
with  a  personal  element  of  coxcombry  which  Alengon  was 
scarcely  capable  of  appreciating.  Does  the  world  owe  no 
esteem  to  those  that  take  such  pains  for  it?  And  what  was 
all  this  labor  but  the  fulfilment  of  that  very  hardest  of  sayings 
in  the  Gospel,  which  bids  us  return  good  for  evil  ?  The  fresh- 
ness of  the  toilet,  the  care  for  dress,  suited  well  with  the 
Chevalier's  blue  eyes,  ivory  teeth,  and  bland  personality ;  still, 
the  superannuated  Adonis  had  nothing  masculine  in  his  ap- 
pearance, and  it  would  seem  that  he  employed  the  illusion 
of  the  toilet  to  hide  the  ravages  of  other  than  military 
campaigns. 

To  tell  the  whole  truth,  the  Chevalier  had  a  voice  singularly 
at  variance  with  his  delicate  fairness.  So  full  was  it  and 
sonorous,  that  you  would  have  been  startled  by  the  sound  of  it 
unless,  with  certain  observers  of  human  nature,  you  held  the 
theory  that  the  voice  was  only  what  might  be  expected  of  such 
a  nose.  With  something  less  of  volume  than  a  giant  double- 
bass,  it  was  a  full,  pleasant  baritone,  reminding  you  of  the 
hautboy  among  musical  instruments,  sweet  and  resistant,  deep 
and  rich. 

M.  de  Valois  had  discarded  the  absurd  costume  still  worn 
by  a  few  antiquated  Eoyalists,  and  frankly  modernized  his 
dress.  He  always  appeared  in  a  maroon  coat  with  gilt  but- 
tons, loosely-fitting  breeches  with  gold  buckles  at  the  knees, 
a  white  sprigged  waistcoat,  a  tight  stock,  and  a  collarless 
shirt ;  this  being  a  last  vestige  of  eighteenth  century  costume, 
which  its  wearer  was  the  less  willing  to  relinquish  because  it 
enabled  him  to  display  a  throat  not  unworthy  of  a  lay  abbe. 
Square  gold  buckles  of  a  kind  unknown  to  the  present  genera- 
tion shone  conspicuous  upon  his  patent  leather  shoes.  Two 
watch  chains  hung  in  view  in  parallel  lines  from  a  couple  of 
fobs,  another  survival  of  an  eighteenth  century  mode  which 
the  incroyable  did  not  disdain  to  copy  in  the  time  of  the 


6       THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Directory.  This  costume  of  a  transition  period,  reuniting 
two  centuries,  was  worn  by  the  Chevalier  with  the  grace  of  an 
old-world  marquis,  a  grace  lost  to  the  French  stage  since 
Mole's  last  pupil,  Fleury,  retired  from  the  boards  and  took  his 
secret  with  him. 

The  old  bachelor's  private  life,  seemingly  open  to  all  eyes, 
was  in  reality  inscrutable.  He  lived  in  a  modest  lodging 
(to  say  the  least  of  it)  up  two  pairs  of  stairs  in  a  house  in  the 
Rue  du  Cours,  his  landlady  being  the  laundress  most  in  re- 
quest in  Alengon — which  fact  explains  the  extreme  elegance 
of  the  Chevalier's  linen.  Ill  luck  was  so  to  order  it  that 
Alengon  one  day  could  actually  believe  that  he  had 
not  always  conducted  himself  as  befitted  a  man  of  his 
quality,  and  that  in  his  old  age  he  privately  married  one 
Cesarine,  the  mother  of  an  infant  which  had  the  impertinence 
to  come  without  being  called. 

"He  gave  his  hand  to  her  who  for  so  long  had  lent  her 
hand  to  iron  his  linen,"  said  a  certain  M.  du  Bousquier. 

The  sensitive  noble's  last  days  were  the  more  vexed  by 
this  unpleasant  scandal,  because,  as  shall  be  shown  in  the 
course  of  this  present  Scene,  he  had  already  lost  a  long- 
cherished  hope  for  which  he  had  made  many  a  sacrifice. 

Mme.  Lardot's  two  rooms  were  let  to  M.  le  Chevalier  de 
Valois  at  the  moderate  rent  of  a  hundred  francs  per  annum. 
The  worthy  gentleman  dined  out  every  night,  and  only  came 
home  to  sleep;  he  was  therefore  at  charges  for  nothing  but 
his  breakfast,  which  always  consisted  of  a  cup  of  chocolate 
with  butter  and  fruit,  according  to  the  season.  A  fire  was 
never  lighted  in  his  rooms  except  in  the  very  coldest  winters, 
and  then  only  while  he  was  dressing.  Between  the  hours  of 
eleven  and  four  M.  de  Valois  took  his  walks  abroad,  read  the 
newspapers,  and  paid  calls. 

When  the  Chevalier  first  settled  in  Alengon,  he  magnani- 
mously owned  that  he  had  nothing  but  an  annuity  of  six 
hundred  livres  paid  in  quarterly  instalments  by  his  old  man 
of  business,  with  whom  the  certificates  were  deposited.  This 
was  all  that  remained  of  liis  former  wealth.  And  every  three 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  7 

months,  in  fact,  a  banker  in  the  town  paid  him  a  hundred  and 
fifty  francs  remitted  by  one  M.  Bordin  of  Paris,  the  last  of 
the  procureurs  du  Chdtelet.  These  particulars  everybody 
knew,  for  the  Chevalier  had  taken  care  to  ask  his  confidant 
to  keep  the  matter  a  profound  secret.  He  reaped  the 
fruits  of  his  misfortunes.  A  cover  was  laid  for  him 
in  all  the  best  houses  in  Alengon;  he  was  asked  to  every 
evening  party.  His  talents  as  a  card-player,  a  teller  of 
anecdotes,  a  pleasant  and  well-bred  man  of  the  world,  were  so 
thoroughly  appreciated  that  an  evening  was  spoiled  if  the 
connoisseur  of  the  town  was  not  present.  The  host  and 
hostess  and  all  the  ladies  present  missed  his  little  approving 
grimace.  "You  are  adorably  well  dressed,"  from  the  old 
bachelor's  lips,  was  sweeter  to  a  young  woman  in  a  ballroom 
than  the  sight  of  her  rival's  despair. 

There  were  certain  old-world  expressions  which  no  one 
could  pronounce  so  well.  "My  heart,"  "my  jewel,"  "my  little 
love,"  "my  queen,"  and  all  the  dear  diminutives  of  the  year 
1770  took  an  irresistible  charm  from  M.  de  Valois'  lips;  in 
short,  the  privilege  of  superlatives  was  his.  His  compli- 
ments, of  which,  moreover,  he  was  chary,  won  him  the  good- 
will of  the  elderly  ladies ;  he  flattered  every  one  down  to  the 
officials  of  whom  he  had  no  need. 

He  was  so  fine  a  gentleman  at  the  card-table,  that  his  be- 
havior would  have  marked  him  out  anywhere.  He  never  com- 
plained; when  his  opponents  lost  he  praised  their  play;  he 
never  undertook  the  education  of  his  partners  by  showing 
them  what  they  ought  to  have  done.  If  a  nauseating  discus- 
sion of  this  kind  began  while  the  cards  were  making,  the 
Chevalier  brought  out  his  snuff-box  with  a  gesture  worthy  of 
Mole,  looked  at  the  Princess  Goritza's  portrait,  took  off  the 
lid  in  a  stately  manner,  heaped  up  a  pinch,  rubbed 
it  to  a  fine  powder  between  finger  and  thumb,  blew  off 
the  light  particles,  shaped  a  little  cone  in  his  hand, 
and  by  the  time  the  cards  were  dealt  he  had  replenished 
the  cavities  in  his  nostrils  and  replaced  the  Princess 
in  his  waistcoat  pocket — always  to  the  left-hand  side. 


8      THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

None  but  a  noble  of  the  Gracious  as  distinguished  from 
the  Great  Century  could  have  invented  such  a  compromise 
between  a  disdainful  silence  and  an  epigram  which  would 
have  passed  over  the  heads  of  his  company.  The  Chevalier 
took  dull  minds  as  he  found  them,  and  knew  how  to  turn 
them  to  account.  His  irresistible  evenness  of  temper  caused 
many  a  one  to  say,  "I  admire  the  Chevalier  de  Valois !" 
Everything  about  him,  his  conversation  and  his  manner, 
seemed  in  keeping  with  his  mild  appearance.  He  was  care- 
ful to  come  into  collision  with  no  one,  man  or  woman.  In- 
dulgent with  deformity  as  with  defects  of  intellect,  he  listened 
patiently  (with  the  help  of  the  Princess  Goritza)  to  tales  of 
the  little  woes  of  life  in  a  country  town;  to  anecdotes  of  the 
undercooked  egg  at  breakfast,  or  the  sour  cream  in  the  coffee ; 
to  small  grotesque  details  of  physical  ailments;  to  tales  of 
dreams  and  visitations  and  wakings  with  a  start.  The 
Chevalier  was  an  exquisite  listener.  He  had  a  languishing 
glance,  a  stock  attitude  to  denote  compassion;  he  put  in  his 
"Ohs"  and  "Poohs"  and  ''What-did-you-dos  ?"  with  charming 
appropriateness.  Till  his  dying  day  no  one  ever  suspected 
that  while  these  avalanches  of  nonsense  lasted,  the  Chevalier 
in  his  own  mind  was  rehearsing  the  warmest  passages  of  an 
old  romance,  of  which  the  Princess  Goritza  was  the  heroine. 
Has  any  one  ever  given  a  thought  to  the  social  uses  of  extinct 
sentiment  ? — or  guessed  in  how  many  indirect  ways  love  bene- 
fits humanity? 

Possibly  this  listener's  faculty  sufficiently  explains  the 
Chevalier's  popularity ;  he  was  always  the  spoiled  child  of  the 
town,  although  he  never  quitted  a  drawing-room  without 
carrying  off  about  five  livres  in  his  pocket.  Sometimes  he 
lost,  and  he  made  the  most  of  his  losses,  but  it  very  seldom 
happened.  All  those  who  knew  him  say  with  one  accord  that 
never  in  any  place  have  they  met  with  so  agreeable  a  mummy, 
not  even  in  the  Egyptian  museum  at  Turin.  Surely  in  no 
known  country  of  the  globe  did  parasite  appear  in  such  a 
benignant  shape.  Never  did  selfishness  in  its  most  concen- 
trated form  show  itself  so  inoffensive,  so  full  of  good  offices 


He  listened  patiently    ...    to  tales  of  the  little  woes  of  life  in  a 
country  town 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN       9 

as  in  this  gentleman;  the  Chevalier's  egoism  was  as  good  as 
another  man's  devoted  friendship.  If  any  person  went  to 
ask  M.  de  Valois  to  do  some  trifling  service  which  the  worthy 
Chevalier  could  not  perform  without  inconvenience,  that  per- 
son never  went  away  without  conceiving  a  great  liking  for 
him,  and  departed  fully  convinced  that  the  Chevalier  could 
do  nothing  in  the  matter,  or  might  do  harm  if  he  meddled 
with  it. 

To  explain  this  problematical  existence  the  chronicler  is 
bound  to  admit,  while  Truth — that  ruthless  debauchee — has 
caught  him  by  the  throat,  that  latterly  after  the  three  sad, 
glorious  Days  of  July,  Alengon  discovered  that  M.  de  Valois' 
winnings  at  cards  amounted  to  something  like  a  hundred 
and  fifty  crowns  every  quarter,  which  amount  the  ingenious 
Chevalier  intrepidly  remitted  to  himself  as  an  annuity,  so 
that  he  might  not  appear  to  be  without  resources  in  a  country 
with  a  great  turn  for  practical  details.  Plenty  of  his  friends 
— he  was  dead  by  that  time,  please  to  remark — plenty  of  his 
friends  denied  this  in  toto,  they  maintained  that  the  stories 
were  fables  and  slanders  set  in  circulation  by  the  Liberal 
party  and  that  M.  de  Valois  was  an  honorable  and  worthy 
gentleman.  Luckily  for  clever  gamblers,  there  will  always 
be  champions  of  this  sort  for  them  among  the  onlookers. 
Feeling  ashamed  to  excuse  wrongdoing,  they  stoutly  deny 
that  wrong  has  been  done.  Do  not  accuse  them  of  wrong- 
headedness ;  they  have  their  own  sense  of  self-respect,  and  the 
Government  sets  them  an  example  of  the  virtue  which  consists 
in  burying  its  dead  by  night  without  chanting  a  Te  Deum 
over  a  defeat.  And  suppose  that  M.  de  Valois  permitted  him- 
self a  neat  stratagem  that  would  have  won  Gramont's  esteem, 
a  smile  from  Baron  de  Fceneste,  and  a  shake  of  the  hand 
from  the  Marquis  de  Moncade,  was  he  any  the  less  the 
pleasant  dinner  guest,  the  wit,  the  unvarying  card-player, 
the  charming  retailer  of  anecdotes,  the  delight  of  Alengon? 
In  what,  moreover,  does  the  action,  lying,  as  it  does,  outside 
the  laws  of  right  and  wrong,  offend  against  the  elegant  code 
of  a  man  of  birth  and  breeding  ?  When  so  many  people  are 


10  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

obliged  to  give  pensions  to  others,  what  more  natural  than 
of  one's  own  accord  to  allow  an  annuity  to  one's  own  best 
friend?  But  Laius  is  dead.  .  .  . 

After  some  fifteen  years  of  this  kind  of  life,  the  Chevalier 
had  amassed  ten  thousand  and  some  odd  hundred  francs. 
When  the  Bourbons  returned,  he  said  that  an  old  friend  of 
his,  M.  le  Marquis  de  Pombreton,  late  a  lieutenant  in  the 
Black  Musketeers,  had  returned  a  loan  of  twelve  hundred 
pistoles  with  which  he  emigrated.  The  incident  made  a 
sensation.  It  was  quoted  afterwards  as  a  set-off  against  droll 
stories  in  the  Constitutionnel  of  the  ways  in  which  some 
emigres  paid  their  debts.  The  poor  Chevalier  used  to  blush 
all  over  the  right  side  of  his  face  whenever  this  noble  trait 
in  the  Marquis  de  Pombreton  came  up  in  conversation.  At 
the  time  every  one  rejoiced  with  M.  de  Valois;  he  used  to 
consult  capitalists  as  to  the  best  way  of  investing  this  wreck 
of  his  former  fortune ;  and,  putting  faith  in  the  Eestoration, 
invested  it  all  in  Government  stock  when  the  funds  had  fallen 
to  fifty-six  francs  twenty-five  centimes.  MM.  de  Lenon- 
court,  de  JSTavarreins,  de  Verneuil,  de  Fontaine,  and  La  Bil- 
lardiere,  to  whom  he  was  known,  had  obtained  a  pension  of 
a  hundred  crowns  for  him  from  the  privy  purse,  he  said,  and 
the  Cross  of  St.  Louis.  By  what  means  the  old  Chevalier 
obtained  the  two  solemn  confirmations  of  his  title  and  quality, 
no  one  ever  knew;  but  this  much  is  certain,  the  Cross  of 
St.  Louis  gave  him  brevet  rank  as  a  colonel  on  a  retiring  pen- 
sion, by  reason  of  his  services  with  the  Catholic  army  in  the 
West. 

Besides  the  fiction  of  the  annuity,  to  which  no  one  gave 
a  thought,  the  Chevalier  was  now  actually  possessed  of  a 
genuine  income  of  a  thousand  francs.  But  with  this  im- 
provement in  his  circumstances  he  made  no  change  in  his  life 
or  manners ;  only — the  red  ribbon  looked  wondrous  well  on  his 
maroon  coat;  it  was  a  finishing  touch,  as  it  were,  to  this 
portrait  of  a  gentleman.  Ever  since  the  year  1802  the 
Chevalier  had  sealed  his  letters  with  an  ancient  gold  seal, 
engraved  roughly  enough,  but  not  so  badly  but  that  the  Gas- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  11 

terans,  d'Esgrignons,  and  Troisvilles  might  see  that  he  bore 
the  arms  of  France  impaled  with  his  own,  to  wit,  France  per 
pale,  gules  two  bars  gemelles,  a  cross  of  five  mascles  con- 
joined or,  on  a  chief  sable  a  cross  pattee  argent  over  all; 
with  a  knight's  casquet  for  crest  and  the  motto — VALEO. 
With  these  noble  arms  the  so-called  bastard  Valois  was  en- 
titled to  ride  in  all  the  royal  coaches  in  the  world. 

Plenty  of  people  envied  the  old  bachelor  his  easy  life,  made 
up  of  boston,  trictrac,  reversis,  whist,  and  piquet;  of  good 
play,  dinners  well  digested,  pinches  of  snuff  gracefully  taken, 
and  quiet  walks  abroad.  Almost  all  Alengon  thought  that 
his  existence  was  empty  alike  of  ambitions  and  cares;  but 
where  is  the  man  whose  life  is  quite  as  simple  as  they  sup- 
pose who  envy  him  ? 

In  the  remotest  country  village  you  shall  find  human  mol- 
lusks,  rotifers  inanimate  to  all  appearance,  which  cherish  a 
passion  for  lepidoptera  or  conchology,  and  are  at  infinite  pains 
to  acquire  some  new  butterfly,  or  a  specimen  of  Concha 
Veneris.  And  the  Chevalier  had  not  merely  shells  and  but- 
terflies of  his  own,  he  cherished  an  ambitious  desire  with  a 
pertinacity  and  profound  strategy  worthy  of  a  Sixtus  V.  He 
meant  to  marry  a  rich  old  maid ;  in  all  probability  because  a 
wealthy  marriage  would  be  a  stepping-stone  to  the  high 
spheres  of  the  Court.  This  was  the  secret  of  his  royal  bear- 
ing and  prolonged  abode  in  Alengon. 

Very  early  one  Tuesday  morning  in  the  middle  of  spring 
in  the  year  '16  (to  use  his  own  expression),  the  Chevalier 
was  just  slipping  on  his  dressing-gown,  an  old-fashioned  green 
silk  damask  of  a  flowered  pattern,  when,  in  spite  of  the  cotton 
in  his  ears,  he  heard  a  girl's  light  footstep  on  the  stairs. 
In  another  moment  some  one  tapped  discreetly  three  times 
on  the  door,  and  then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  a 
very  handsome  damsel  slipped  like  a  snake  into  the  old 
bachelor's  apartment. 

"Ah,  Suzanne,  is  that  you?"  said  the  Chevalier  de  Valois, 
continuing  to  strop  his  razor.  "What  are  you  here  for,  dear 
little  jewel  of  mischief?" 


12  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you  something  which  perhaps  will 
give  you  as  much  pleasure  as  annoyance." 

"Is  it  something  about  Cesarine  ?" 

"Much  I  trouble  myself  about  your  Cesarine,"  pouted  she, 
half  careless,  half  in  earnest. 

The  charming  Suzanne,  whose  escapade  was  to  exercise 
so  great  an  influence  on  the  lives  of  all  the  principal  charac- 
ters in  this  story,  was  one  of  Mme.  Lardot's  laundry  girls.  And 
now  for  a  few  topographical  details. 

The  whole  ground  floor  of  the  house  was  given  up  to  the 
laundry.  The  little  yard  was  a  drying-ground  where  em- 
broidered handkerchiefs,  collarettes,  muslin  slips,  cuffs,  frilled 
shirts,  cravats,  laces,  embroidered  petticoats,  all  the  fine  wash- 
ing of  the  best  houses  in  the  town,  in  short,  hung  out  along 
the  lines  of  hair  rope.  The  Chevalier  used  to  say  that  he  was 
kept  informed  of  the  progress  of  the  receiver-general's  wife's 
flirtations  by  the  number  of  slips  thus  brought  to  light ;  and 
the  amount  of  frilled  shirts  and  cambric  cravats  varied 
directly  with  the  petticoats  and  collarettes.  By  this  system 
of  double  entry,  as  it  were,  he  detected  all  the  assignations 
in  the  town;  but  the  Chevalier  was  always  discreet,  he  never 
let  fall  an  epigram  that  might  have  closed  a  house  to  him. 
And  yet  he  was  a  witty  talker !  For  which  reason  you  may  be 
sure  that  M.  de  Valois'  manners  were  of  the  finest,  while 
his  talents,  as  so  often  happens,  were  thrown  away  upon  a 
narrow  circle.  Still,  for  he  was  only  human  after  all,  he 
sometimes  could  not  resist  the  pleasure  of  a  searching .  side 
glance  which  made  women  tremble,  and  nevertheless  they 
liked  him  when  they  found  out  how  profoundly  discreet  he 
was,  how  full  of  sympathy  for  their  pretty  frailties. 

Mme.  Lardot's  forewoman  and  factotum,  an  alarmingly 
ugly  spinster  of  five-and-forty,  occupied  the  rest  of  the  second 
floor  with  the  Chevalier.  Her  door  on  the  landing  was 
exactly  opposite  his;  and  her  apartment,  like  his  own,  con- 
sisted of  two  rooms,  looking  respectively  upon  the  street  and 
the  yard.  Above,  there  was  nothing  but  the  attics  where 
the  linen  was  dried  in  winter.  Below  lodged  Mme.  Lardot's 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  13 

grandfather.  The  old  man,  Grevin  by  name,  had  been  a 
privateer  in  his  time,  and  had  served  under  Admiral  Simeuse 
in  the  Indies;  now  he  was  paralyzed  and  stone  deaf.  Mme. 
Lardot  herself  occupied  the  rooms  beneath  her  forewoman, 
and  so  great  was  her  weakness  for  people  of  condition,  that 
she  might  be  said  to  be  blind  where  the  Chevalier  was  con- 
cerned. In  her  eyes,  M.  de  Valois  was  an  absolute  monarch,  a 
king  that  could  do  no  wrong  ;even  if  one  of  her  own  work-girls 
had  been  said  to  be  guilty  of  finding  favor  in  his  sight,  she 
would  have  said,  "He  is  so  amiable !" 

And  so,  if  M.  de  Valois,  like  most  people  in  the  provinces, 
lived  in  a  glass  house,  it  was  secret  as  a  robber's  cave  so  far  as 
he  at  least  was  concerned.  A  born  confidant  of  the  little 
intrigues  of  the  laundry,  he  never  passed  the  door — which  al- 
most always  stood  ajar- — without  bringing  something  for  his 
pets — chocolate,  bonbons,  ribbons,  laces,  a  gilt  cross,  and  the 
jokes  that  grisettes  love.  Wherefore  the  little  girls  adored  the 
Chevalier.  Women  can  tell  by  instinct  whether  a  man  is 
attracted  to  anything  that  wears  a  petticoat;  they  know  at 
once  the  kind  of  man  who  enjoys  the  mere  sense  of  their 
presence,  who  never  thinks  of  making  blundering  demands 
of  repayment  for  his  gallantry.  In  this  respect  womankind 
has  a  canine  faculty;  a  dog  in  any  company  goes  straight 
to  the  man  who  respects  animals.  The  Chevalier  de  Valois  in 
his  poverty  preserved  something  of  his  former  life;  he  was 
as  unable  to  live  without  some  fair  one  under  his  protection 
as  any  grand  seigneur  of  a  bygone  age.  He  clung  to  the 
traditions  of  the  petite  maison.  He  loved  to  give  to  women, 
and  women  alone  can  receive  gracefully,  perhaps  because  it  is 
always  in  their  power  to  repay. 

In  these  days,  when  every  lad  on  leaving  school  tries  his 
hand  at  unearthing  symbols  or  sifting  legends,  is  it  not  ex- 
traordinary that  no  one  has  explained  that  portent,  the 
Courtesan  of  the  Eighteenth  Century  ?  What  was  she  but  the 
tournament  of  the  Sixteenth  in  another  shape?  In  1550- the 
knights  displayed  their  prowess  for  their  ladies;  in  1750  they 
displayed  their  mistresses  at  Longchamps;  to-day  they  run 


14  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

their  horses  over  the  course.  The  noble  of  every  age  has 
done  his  best  to  invent  a  life  which  he,  and  he  only,  can  live. 
The  painted  shoes  of  the  Fourteenth  Century  are  the  talons 
rouges  of  the  Eighteenth;  the  parade  of  a  mistress  was  one 
fashion  in  ostentation;  the  sentiment  of  chivalry  and  the 
knight  errant  was  another. 

The  Chevalier  de  Valois  could  no  longer  ruin  himself  for 
a  mistress,  so  for  bonbons  wrapped  in  bank-bills  he  politely 
offered  a  bag  of  genuine  cracknels ;  and  to  the  credit  of  Alen- 
c.on,  be  it  said,  the  cracknels  caused  far  more  pleasure  to  the 
recipients  than  M.  d'Artois'  presents  of  carriages  or  silver- 
gilt  toilet  sets  ever  gave  to  the  fair  Duthe.  There  was  not  a 
girl  in  the  laundry  but  recognized  the  Chevalier's  fallen  great- 
ness, and  kept  his  familiarities  in  the  house  a  profound 
secret. 

In  answer  to  questions,  they  always  spoke  gravely  of  the 
Chevalier  de  Valois;  they  watched  over  him.  For  others  he 
became  a  venerable  gentleman,  his  life  was  a  flower  of 
sanctity.  But  at  home  they  would  have  lighted  on  his 
shoulders  like  paroquets. 

The  Chevalier  liked  to  know  the  intimate  aspects  of  family 
life  which  laundresses  learn;  they  used  to  go  up  to  his  room 
of  a  morning  to  retail  the  gossip  of  the  town ;  he  called  them 
his  "gazettes  in  petticoats,"  his  "living  feuilletons."  M. 
Sartine  himself  had  not  such  intelligent  spies  at  so  cheap  a 
rate,  nor  yet  so  loyal  in  their  rascality.  Eemark,  moreover, 
that  the  Chevalier  thoroughly  enjoyed  his  breakfasts. 

Suzanne  was  one  of  his  favorites.  A  clever  and  ambitious 
girl  with  the  stuff  of  a  Sophie  Arnould  in  her,  she  was  be- 
sides as  beautiful  as  the  loveliest  courtesan  that  Titian  ever 
prayed  to  pose  against  a  background  of  dark  velvet  as  a  model 
for  his  Venus.  Her  forehead  and  all  the  upper  part  of  her 
face  about  the  eyes  were  delicately  moulded ;  but  the  contours 
of  the  lower  half  were  cast  in  a  commoner  mould.  Hers 
was  the  beauty  of  a  Normande,  fresh,  plump,  and  brilliant- 
complexioned,  with  that  Rubens  fleshiness  which  should  be 
combined  with  the  muscular  development  of  a .  Farnese  Her- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  15 

cules :     This  was  no  Venus  de'  Medici,  the  graceful  feminine 
counterpart  of  Apollo. 

"Well,  child,"  said  the  Chevalier,  "tell  me  your  adventures 
little  or  big." 

The  Chevalier's  fatherly  benignity  with  these  grisettes 
would  have  marked  him  out  anywhere  between  Paris  and 
Pekin.  The  girls  put  him  in  mind  of  the  courtesans  of  an- 
other age,  of  the  illustrious  queens  of  opera  of  European 
fame  during  a  good  third  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Certain 
it  is  that  he  who  had  lived  for  so  long  in  a  world  of  women 
now  as  dead  and  forgotten  as  the  Jesuits,  the  buccaneers,  the 
abbes,  and  the  farmers-general,  and  all  great  things  generally 
— certain  it  is  that  the  Chevalier  had  acquired  an  irresistible 
good  humor,  a  gracious  ease,  an  unconcern,  with  no  trace  of 
egoism  discernible  in  it.  So  might  Jupiter  have  appeared 
to  Alcmena — a  king  that  chooses  to  be  a  woman's  dupe,  and 
flings  majesty  and  its  thunderbolts  to  the  winds,  that  he  may 
squander  Olympus  in  follies,  and  "little  suppers/'  and 
feminine  extravagance;  wishful,  of  all  things,  to  be  far 
enough  away  from  Juno. 

The  room  in  which  the  Chevalier  received  company  was 
bare  enough,  with  its  shabby  bit  of  tapestry  to  do  duty  as  a 
carpet,  and  very  dirty,  old-fashioned  easy-chairs;  the  walls 
were  covered  with  a  cheap  paper,  on  which  the  countenances  of 
Louis  XVI.  and  his  family,  framed  in  weeping  willow,  appear- 
ed at  intervals  among  funeral  urns,  bearing  the  sublime  testa- 
ment by  way  of  inscription,  amid  a  whole  host  of  sentimental 
emblems  invented  by  Eoyalism  under  the  Terror ;  but  in  spite 
of  all  this,  in  spite  of  the  old  flowered  green  silk  dressing- 
gown,  in  spite  of  its  owner's  air  of  dilapidation,  a  certain 
fragrance  of  the  eighteenth  century  clung  about  the  Chevalier 
de  Valois  as  he  shaved  himself  before  the  old-fashioned  toilet 
glass,  covered  with  cheap  lace.  All  the  graceless  graces  of  his 
youth  seemed  to  reappear ;  he  might  have  had  three  hundred 
thousand  francs'  worth  of  debts  to  his  name,  and  a  chariot  at 
his  door.  He  looked  a  great  man,  great  as  Berthier  in  the 
Retreat  from  Moscow  issuing  the  order  of  the  day  to  bat- 
talions which  were  no  more. 
VOL.  7 — 24 


16  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"M.  le  Chevalier/'  Suzanna  replied  archly,  "it  seems  to  me 
that  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you — you  have  only  to  look !" 

So  saying,  she  turned  and  stood  sidewise  to  prove  her  words 
by  ocular  demonstrations ;  and  the  Chevalier,  deep  old  gentle- 
man, still  holding  his  razor  across  his  chin,  cast  his  right  eye 
downwards  upon  the  damsel,  and  pretended  to  understand. 

"Very  good,  my  little  pet,  we  will  have  a  little  talk  to- 
gether presently.  But  you  come  first,  it  seems,  to  me." 

"But,  M.  le  Chevalier,  am  I  to  wait  till  my  mother  beats 
me  and  Mme.  Lardot  turns  me  away  ?  If  I  do  not  go  to  Paris 
at  once,  I  shall  never  get  married  here,  where  the  men  are  so 
ridiculous." 

"These  things  cannot  be  helped,  child!  Society  changes, 
and  women  suffer  just  as  much  as  the  nobles  from  the  shock- 
ing confusion  which  ensues.  Topsy-turvydom  in  politics 
ends  in  topsy-turvy  manners.  Alas !  woman  soon  will  cease 
to  be  woman"  (here  he  took  the  cotton  wool  out  of  his  ears  to 
continue  his  toilet).  "Women  will  lose  a  great  deal  by 
plunging  into  sentiment;  they  will  torture  their  nerves,  and 
there  will  be  an  end  of  the  good  old  ways  of  our  time,  when  a 
little  pleasure  was  desired  without  blushes,  and  accepted 
without  more  ado,  and  the  vapors"  (he  polished  the  earrings 
with  the  negroes'  heads) — "the  vapors  were  only  known  as 
a  means  of  getting  one's  way ;  before  long  they  will  take  the 
proportions  of  a  complaint  only  to  be  cured  by  an  infusion 
of  orange-blossoms."  (The  Chevalier  burst  out  laughing.) 
"Marriage,  in  short,"  he  resumed,  taking  a  pair  of  tweezers  to 
pluck  out  a  gray  hair,  "marriage  will  come  to  be  a  very  dull 
institution  indeed,  and  it  was  so  joyous  in  my  time.  The 
reign  of  Louis  Quatorze  and  Louis  Quinze,  bear  this  in  mind, 
my  child,  saw  the  last  of  the  finest  manners  in  the 
world." 

"But,  M.  le  Chevalier,"  urged  the  girl,  "it  is  your  little 
Suzanne's  character  and  reputation  that  is  at  stake,  and  you 
are  not  going  to  forsake  her,  I  hope !" 

"What  is  all  this?"  cried  the  Chevalier,  with  a  finishing 
touch  to  his  hair;  "I  would  sooner  lose  my  name!" 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  17 

"Ah!"  said  Suzanne. 

"Listen  to  me,  little  masquerader."  He  sat  down  in  a  large, 
low  chair,  a  duchess,  as  it  used  to  be  called,  which  Mme.  Lar- 
dot  had  picked  up  somewhere  for  her  lodger.  Then  he  drew 
the  magnificent  Suzanne  to  him  till  she  stood  between  his 
knees;  and  Suzanne  submitted — Suzanne  who  held  her  head 
so  high  in  the  streets,  and  had  refused  a  score  of  overtures 
from  admirers  in  Alenc,on,  not  so  much  from  self-respect  as 
in  disdain  of  their  pettiness.  Suzanne  so  brazenly  made  the 
most  of  the  supposed  consequences  of  her  errors,  that  the  old 
sinner,  who  had  fathomed  so  many  mysteries  in  persons  far 
more  astute  than  Suzanne,  saw  the  real  state  of  affairs  at 
once.  He  knew  well  enough  that  a  grisette  does  not  laugh 
when  disgrace  is  really  in  question,  but  he  scorned  to  throw 
down  the  scaffolding  of  an  engaging  fib  with  a  touch. 

"We  are  slandering  ourselves,"  said  he,  and  there  was  an 
inimitable  subtlety  in  his  smile.  "We  are  as  well  conducted 
as  the  fair  one  whose  name  we  bear;  we  can  marry  without 
fear.  But  we  do  not  want  to  vegetate  here;  we  long  for 
Paris,  where  charming  creatures  can  be  rich  if  they  are  clever, 
and  we  are  not  a  fool.  So  we  should  like  to  find  out  whether 
the  City  of  Pleasure  has  young  Chevaliers  de  Valois  in  store 
for  us,  and  a  carriage  and  diamonds  and  an  opera  box.  There 
are  Eussians  and  English  and  Austrians  that  are  bringing 
millions  to  spend  in  Paris,  and  some  of  that  money  mamma 
settled  on  us  as  a  marriage  portion  when  she  gave  us  our 
good  looks.  And  besides,  we  are  patriotic;  we  should  like  to 
help  France  to  find  her  own  money  in  these  gentlemen's 
pockets.  Eh !  eh !  my  dear  little  devil's  lamb,  all  this  is  not 
bad.  The  neighbors  will  cry  out  upon  you  a  little  at  first 
perhaps,  but  success  will  make  everything  right.  The  real 
crime,  my  child,  is  poverty ;  and  you  and  I  both  suffer  for  it. 
As  we  are  not  lacking  in  intelligence,  we  thought  we  might 
turn  our  dear  little  reputation  to  account  to  take  in 
an  old  bachelor,  but  the  old  bachelor,  sweetheart,  knows  the 
alpha  and  omega  of  woman's  wiles ;  which  is  to  say,  that  you 
would  find  it  easier  to  put  a  grain  of  salt  upon  a  sparrow's 


18  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

tail  than  to  persuade  me  to  believe  that  I  have  had  any  share 
in  your  affair. 

"Go  to  Paris,  my  child,  go  at  the  expense  of  a  bachelor's 
vanity;  I  am  not  going  to  hinder  you,  I  will  help  you,  for 
the  old  bachelor,  Suzanne,  is  the  cash-box  provided  by  nature 
for  a  young  girl.  But  do  not  thrust  me  into  the  affair. 
Now,  listen,  my  queen,  understanding  life  so  well  as  you  do — 
you  see,  you  might  do  me  a  good  deal  of  harm  and  give  me 
trouble;  harm,  because  you  might  spoil  my  marriage  in  a 
place  where  people  are  so  particular ;  trouble  on  your  account, 
because  you  will  get  yourself  in  a  scrape  for  nothing,  a  scrape 
entirely  of  your  own  invention,  sly  girl;  and  you  know,  my 
pet,  that  I  have  no  money  left,  I  am  as  poor  as  a  church 
mouse.  Ah !  if  I  were  to  marry  Mile.  Cormon,  if  I  were  rich 
again,  I  would  certainly  rather  have  you  than  Cesarine.  You 
were  always  fine  gold  enough  to  gild  lead,  it  seemed  to  me; 
you  were  made  to  be  a  great  lord's  love;  and  as  I  knew  you 
were  a  clever  girl,  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  by  this  trick  of 
yours,  I  expected  as  much.  For  a  girl,  this  means  that  you 
burn  your  boats.  It  is  no  common  mind,  my  angel,  that  can 
do  it;  and  for  that  reason  you  have  my  esteem,"  and  he  be- 
stowed confirmation  upon  her  cheek  after  the  manner  of  a 
bishop,  with  two  fingers. 

"But,  M.  le  Chevalier,  I  do  assure  you  that  you  are  mis- 
taken, and "  she  blushed,  and  dared  not  finish  her  sen- 
tence, at  a  glance  he  had  seen  through  her,  and  read  her 
plans  from  beginning  to  end. 

"Yes,  I  understand,  you  wish  me  to  believe  you.  Very 
well,  I  believe.  But  take  my  advice  and  go  to  M.  du 
Bousquier.  You  have  taken  M.  du  Bousquier's  linen  home 
from  the  wash  for  five  or  six  months,  have  you  not? — Very 
good.  I  do  not  ask  to  know  what  has  happened  between 
you ;  but  I  know  him,  he  is  vain,  he  is  an  old  bachelor,  he  is 
very  rich,  he  has  an  income  of  two  thousand  five  hundred 
livres,  and  spends  less  than  eight  hundred.  If  you  are  the 
clever  girl  that  I  take  you  for,  you  will  find  your  way  to  Paris 
at  his  expense.  Go  to  him,  my  pet,  twist  him  round  your 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  19 

fingers,  and  of  all  things,  be  supple  as  silk,  and  make  a 
double  twist  and  a  knot  at  every  word;  he  is  just  the  man 
to  be  afraid  of  a  scandal ;  and  if  he  knows  that  you  can  make 
him  sit  on  the  stool  of  repentance —  In  short,  you  under- 
stand, threaten  to  apply  to  the  ladies  of  the  charitable  fund. 
He  is  ambitious  besides.  Well  and  good,  with  a  wife  to  help 
him  there  should  be  nothing  beyond  a  man's  reach;  and  are 
you  not  handsome  enough  and  clever  enough  to  make  your 
husband's  fortune?  Why,  plague  take  it,  you  might  hold 
your  own  with  a  court  lady." 

The  Chevalier's  last  words  let  the  light  into  Suzanne's 
brain;  she  was  burning  with  impatience  to  rush  off  to  du 
Bousquier ;  but  as  she  could  not  hurry  away  too  abruptly,  she 
helped  the  Chevalier  to  dress,  asking  questions  about  Paris  as 
she  did  so.  As  for  the  Chevalier,  he  saw  that  his  remarks 
had  taken  effect,  and  gave  Suzanne  an  excuse  to  go,  asking 
her  to  tell  Cesarine  to  bring  up  the  chocolate  that  Mme.  Lar- 
dot  made  for  him  every  morning,  and  Suzanne  forthwith 
slipped  off  in  search  of  her  prey. 

And  here  follows  du  Bousquier's  biography. — He  came  of 
an  old  Alengon  family  in  a  middle  rank  between  the  burghers 
and  the  country  squires.  On  the  death  of  his  father,  a 
magistrate  in  the  criminal  court,  he  was  left  without  resource, 
and,  like  most  ruined  provincials,  betook  himself  to  Paris  to 
seek  his  fortune.  When  the  Revolution  broke  out,  du 
Bousquier  was  a  man  of  affairs ;  and  in  those  days  (in  spite 
of  the  Eepublicans,  who  are  all  up  in  arms  for  the  honesty 
of  their  government,  the  word  "affairs"  was  used  very  loosely. 
Political  spies,  jobbers,  and  contractors,  the  men  who  ar- 
ranged with  the  syndics  of  communes  for  the  sale  of  the 
property  of  emigres,  and  then  bought  up  land  at  low  prices 
to  sell  again, — all  these  folk,  like  ministers  and  generals, 
were  men  of  affairs. 

From  1793  to  1799  du  Bousquier  held  contracts  to  supply 
the  army  with  forage  and  provisions.  During  those  years  he 
lived  in  a  splendid  mansion;  he  was  one  of  the  great 
capitalists  of  the  time;  he  went  shares  with  Ouvrard;  kept 


20  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

open  house  and  led  the  scandalous  life  of  the  times.  A 
Cincinnatus,  reaping  where  he  had  not  sowed,  and  rich  with 
stolen  rations  and  sacks  of  corn,  he  kept  petites  maisons  and 
a  bevy  of  mistresses,  and  gave  fine  entertainments  to  the 
directors  of  the  Eepublic.  Citizen  du  Bousquier  was  one  of 
Barras'  intimates ;  he  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with  Fouche, 
and  hand  and  glove  with  Bernadotte.  He  thought  to  be  a 
Minister  of  State  one  day,  and  threw  himself  heart  and  soul 
into  the  party  that  secretly  plotted  against  Bonaparte  before 
the  battle  of  Marengo.  And  but  for  Kellermann's  charge 
and  the  death  of  Desaix,  du  Bousquier  would  have  played  a 
great  part  in  the  state.  He  was  one  of  the  upper  members 
of  the  permanent  staff  of  the  promiscuous  government  which 
was  driven  by  Napoleon's  luck  to  vanish  into  the  side-scenes 
of  1793.* 

The  victory  unexpectedly  won  by  stubborn  fighting  ended 
in  the  downfall  of  this  party;  they  had  placards  ready 
printed,  and  were  only  waiting  for  the  First  Consul's  defeat 
to  proclaim  a  return  to  the  principles  of  the  Mountain. 

Du  Bousquier,  feeling  convinced  that  a  victory  was  im- 
possible, had  two  special  messengers  on  the  battlefield,  and 
speculated  with  the  larger  part  of  his  fortune  for  a  fall  in 
the  funds.  The  first  courier  came  with  the  news  that  Melas 
was  victorious ;  but  the  second  arriving  four  hours  afterwards, 
at  night,  brought  the  tidings  of  the  Austrian  defeat.  Du 
Bousquier  cursed  Kellermann  and  Desaix;  the  First  Consul 
owed  him  millions,  he  dared  not  curse  him.  But  between  the 
chance  of  making  millions  on  the  one  hand,  and  stark  ruin 
on  the  other,  he  lost  his  head.  For  several  days  he  was  half 
idiotic;  he  had  undermined  his  constitution  with  excesses 
to  such  an  extent  that  the  thunderbolt  left  him  helpless. 
He  had  something  to  hope  from  the  settlement  of  his  claims 
upon  the  Government ;  but  in  spite  of  bribes,  he  was  made  to 
feel  the  weight  of  Napoleon's  displeasure  against  army  con- 
tractors who  speculated  on  his  defeat.  M.  de  Fermon,  so 
pleasantly  nicknamed  "Fermons  la  caisse,"  left  du  Bousquier 

*  See  Uhe  TSnlbreuse  Affaire. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  2i 

without  a  penny.  The  First  Consul  was  even  more  incensed 
by  the  immorality  of  his  private  life  and  his  connection  with 
Barras  and  Bernadotte  than  by  his  speculations  on  the 
Bourse;  he  erased  M.  du  Bousquier's  name  from  the  list  of 
Receivers-general,  on  which  a  last  remnant  of  credit  had 
placed  him  for  Alengon. 

Of  all  his  former  wealth,  nothing  now  remained  to  du 
Bousquier  save  an  income  of  twelve  hundred  francs  from  the 
funds,  an  investment  entirely  due  to  chance,  which  saved  him 
from  actual  want.  His  creditors,  knowing  nothing  of  the  re- 
sults of  his  liquidation,  only  left  him  enough  in  consols  to 
bring  in  a  thousand  francs  per  annum ;  but  their  claims  were 
paid  in  full  after  all,  when  the  outstanding  debts  had  been  col- 
lected, and  the  Hotel  de  Beauseant,  du  Bousquier's  town 
house,  sold  besides.  So,  after  a  close  shave  of  bankruptcy,  the 
sometime  speculator  emerged  with  his  name  intact.  Preceded 
by  a  tremendous  reputation  due  to  his  relations  with  former 
heads  of  government  departments,  his  manner  of  life,  his  brief 
day  of  authority,  and  final  ruin  through  the  First  Consul,  the 
man  interested  the  city  of  Alengon,  where  Royalism  was 
secretly  predominant.  Du  Bousquier,  exasperated  against 
Bonaparte,  with  his  tales  of  the  First  Consul's  pettiness,  of 
Josephine's  lax  morals,  and  a  whole  store  of  anecdotes  of  ten 
years  of  Revolution,  seen  from  within,  met  with  a  good  re- 
ception. 

It  was  about  this  period  of  his  life  that  du  Bousquier,  now 
well  over  his  fortieth  year,  came  out  as  a  bachelor  of  thirty- 
six.  He  was  of  medium  height,  fat  as  became  a  contractor, 
and  willing  to  display  a  pair  of  calves  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  gay  and  gallant  attorney.  He  had  strongly 
marked  features;  a  flattened  nose  with  tufts  of  hair  in  the 
equine  nostrils,  bushy  black  brows,  and  eyes  beneath  them 
that  looked  out  shrewd  as  M.  de  Talleyrand's  own,  though 
they  had  lost  something  of  their  brightness.  He  wore  his 
brown  hair  very  long,  and  retained  the  side-whiskers 
(nageoires,  as  they  were  called)  of  the  time  of  the  Republic. 
You  had  only  tc  look  at  his  fingers,  tufted  at  every  joint,  or  at 


22  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

the  blue  knotted  veins  that  stood  out  upon  his  hands,  to  see 
the  unmistakable  signs  of  a  very  remarkable  muscular  de- 
velopment; and,  in  truth,  he  had  the  chest  of  the  Farnese 
Hercules,  and  shoulders  fit  to  bear  the  burden  of  the  national 
debt;  you  never  see  such  shoulders  nowadays.  His  was  a 
luxuriant  virility  admirably  described  by  an  eighteenth  cen- 
tury phrase  which  is  scarcely  intelligible  to-day;  the  gal- 
lantry of  a  bygone  age  would  have  summed  up  du  Bousquier 
as  a  "payer  of  arrears" — un  vrai  payeur  d'arrerages. 

Yet,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  there  were 
sundry  indications  at  variance  with  the  ex-contractor's  general 
appearance.  His  vocal  powers,  for  instance,  were  not  in 
keeping  with  his  muscles ;  not  that  it  was  the  mere  thread  of 
a  voice  which  sometimes  issues  from  the  throats  of  such  two- 
footed  seals;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  loud  but  husky,  some- 
thing like  the  sound  of  a  saw  cutting  through  damp,  soft 
wood;  it  was,  in  fact,  the  voice  of  a  speculator  brought,  to 
grief.  For  a  long  while  du  Bousquier  wore  the  costume  in 
vogue  in  the  days  of  his  glory:  the  boots  with  turned-down 
tops,  the  while  silk  stockings,  the  short  cloth  breeches,  ribbed 
with  cinnamon  color,  the  blue  coat,  the  waistcoat  a  la 
Robespierre. 

His  hatred  of  the  First  Consul  should  have  been  a  sort 
of  passport  into  the  best  Eoyalist  houses  of  Alengon ;  but  the 
seven  or  eight  families  that  made  up  the  local  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain  into  which  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  had  the 
entrance,  held  aloof.  Almost  from  the  first,  du  Bousquier 
had  aspired  to  marry  one  Mile.  Armande,  whose  brother  was 
one  of  the  most  esteemed  nobles  of  the  town;  he  thought  to 
make  this  brother  play  a  great  part  in  his  own  schemes, 
for  he  was  dreaming  of  a  brilliant  return  match  in  politics. 
He  met  with  a  refusal,  for  which  he  consoled  himself  with 
such  compensation  as  he  might  find  among  some  half-score  of 
retired  manufacturers  of  Point  d'Alengon,  owners  of  grass 
lands  or  cattle,  or  wholesale  linen  merchants,  thinking 
that  among  these  chance  might  put  a  good  match  in  his  way. 
Indeed,  the  old  bachelor  had  centered  all  his  hopes  on  a  pros- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  23 

pective  fortunate  marriage,  which  a  man,  eligible  in  so  many 
ways,  might  fairly  expect  to  make.  For  he  was  not  without 
a  certain  financial  acumen,  of  which  not  a  few  availed  them- 
selves. He  pointed  out  business  speculations  as  a  ruined 
gambler  gives  hints  to  new  hands ;  and  he  was  expert  at  dis- 
covering the  resources,  chances,  and  management  of  a  con- 
cern. People  looked  upon  him  as  a  good  administrator.  It 
was  an  often-discussed  question  whether  he  should  not  be 
mayor  of  Alengon,  but  the  recollection  of  his  Eepublican 
jobberies  spoiled  his  chances,  and  he  was  never  received  at 
the  prefecture. 

Every  successive  government,  even  the  government  of  the 
Hundred  Days,  declined  to  give  him  the  coveted  appoint- 
ment, which  would  have  assured  his  marriage  with  an  elderly 
spinster  whom  he  now  had  in  his  mind.  It  was  his  detestation 
of  the  Imperial  Government  that  drove  him  into  the  Eoyalist 
camp,  where  he  stayed  in  spite  of  insults  there  received;  but 
when  the  Bourbons  returned,  and  still  he  was  excluded  from 
the  prefecture,  that  final  rebuff  filled  him  with  a  hatred  deep 
as  the  profound  secrecy  in  which  he  wrapped  it.  Outwardly, 
he  remained  patiently  faithful  to  his  opinions;  secretly,  he 
became  the  leader  of  the  Liberal  party  in  Alengnn,  the  in- 
visible controller  of  elections;  and,  by  his  cunningly  devised 
manoeuvres  and  underhand  methods,  he  worked  no  little  harm 
to  the  restored  Monarchy. 

When  a  man  is  reduced  to  live  through  his  intellect  alone, 
his  hatred  is  something  as  quiet  as  a  little  stream;  in- 
significant to  all  appearance,  but  unfailing.  This  was  the 
case  with  du  Bousquier.  His  hatred  was  like  a  negro's,  so 
placid,  so  patient,  that  it  deceives  the  enemy.  For  fifteen 
years  he  brooded  over  a  revenge  which  no  victory,  not  even  the 
Three  Days  of  July  1830,  could  sate. 

When  the  Chevalier  sent  Suzanne  to  du  Bousquier,  he  had 
his  own  reasons  for  so  doing.  The  Liberal  and  the  Royalist 
divined  each  other,  in  spite  of  the  skilful  dissimulation  which 
hid  their  common  aim  from  the  rest  of  the  town. 

The  two  old  bachelors  were  rivals.       Both  of  them  had 


24  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

planned  to  marry  the  Demoiselle  Cormon,  whose  name  came 
up  in  the  course  of  the  Chevalier's  conversation  with  Suzanne. 
Both  of  them,  engrossed  by  their  idea,  and  masquerading  in 
indifference,  were  waiting  for  the  moment  when  some  chance 
should  deliver  the  old  maid  to  one  or  other  of  them. 
And  the  fact  that  they  were  rivals  in  this  way  would  have 
heen  enough  to  make  enemies  of  the  pair  even  if  each  had  not 
oeen  the  living  embodiment  of  a  political  system. 

Men  take  their  color  from  their  time.  This  pair  of  rivals 
is  a  case  in  point ;  the  historic  tinge  of  their  characters  stood 
out  in  strong  contrast  in  their  talk,  their  ideas,  their  costume. 
The  one,  blunt  and  energetic,  with  his  burly  abrupt  ways,  curt 
speech,  dark  looks,  dark  hair,  and  dark  complexion,  alarming 
in  appearance,  but  impotent  in  reality  as  insurrection,  was 
the  Eepublic  personified;  the  other,  bland  and  polished, 
elegant  and  fastidious,  gaining  his  ends  slowly  but  surely  by 
diplomacy,  and  never  unmindful  of  good  taste,  Avas  the  typical 
old-world  courtier.  They  met  on  the  same  ground  almost 
every  evening.  It  was  a  rivalry  always  courteous  and  urbane 
on  the  part  of  the  Chevalier,  less  ceremonious  on  du  Bous- 
quier's,  though  he  kept  within  the  limits  prescribed  by  Alen- 
gon,  for  he  had  no  wish  to  be  driven  ignominiously  from  the 
field.  The  two  men  understood  each  other  well ;  but  no  one  else 
saw  what  was  going  on.  In  spite  of  the  minute  and  curious 
interest  which  provincials  take  in  the  small  details  of  which 
their  lives  are  made  up,  no  one  so  much  as  suspected  that  the 
fwo  men  were  rivals. 

M.  le  Chevalier's  position  was  somewhat  the  stronger;  he 
had  never  proposed  for  Mile.  Cormon,  whereas  du  Bousquier 
had  declared  himself  after  a  rebuff  from  one  of  the  noblest 
families,  and  had  met  with  a  second  refusal.  Still,  the 
Chevalier  thought  so  well  of  his  rival's  chances,  that  he  con- 
sidered it  worth  while  to  deal  him  a  coup  de  Jarnac,  a 
treacherous  thrust  from  a  weapon  as  finely  tempered  as 
Suzanne.  He  had  fathomed  du  Bousquier;  and,  as  will 
shortly  be  seen,  he  was  not  mistaken  in  any  of  his  con- 
jectures. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  25 

Suzanne  tripped  away  down  the  Eue  du  Cours,  along  the 
Eue  de  la  Porte  de  Seez  and  the  Eue  du  Bercail  to  the  Eue 
du  Cygne,  where  du  Bousquier,  five  years  ago,  had  bought  a 
small  countrified  house  built  of  the  gray  stone  of  the  dis- 
trict, which  is  used  like  granite  in  Normandy,  or  Breton  schist 
in  the  West.  The  sometime  forage-contractor  had  established 
himself  there  in  more  comfort  than  any  other  house  in  the 
town  could  boast,  for  he  had  brought  with  him  some  relics 
of  past  days  of  splendor ;  but  provincial  manners  and  customs 
were  slowly  darkening  the  glory  of  the  fallen  Sardanapalus. 
The  vestiges  of  past  luxury  looked  about  as  much  out  of  place 
in  the  house  as  a  chandelier  in  a  barn.  Harmony,  which 
links  the  works  of  man  or  of  God  together,  was  lacking  in  all 
things  large  or  small.  A  ewer  with  a  metal  lid,  such  as  you 
only  see  on  the  outskirts  of  Brittany,  stood  on  a  handsome 
chest  of  drawers;  and  while  the  bedroom  floor  was  covered 
with  a  fine  carpet,  the  window-curtains  displayed  a  flower 
pattern  only  known  to  cheap  printed  cottons.  The  stone 
mantelpiece,  daubed  over  with  paint,  was  out  of  all  keeping 
with  a  handsome  clock  disgraced  by  a  shabby  pair  of  candle- 
sticks. Local  talent  had  made  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to 
paint  the  doors  in  vivid  contrasts  of  startling  colors;  while 
the  staircase,  ascended  by  all  and  sundry  in  muddy  boots,  had 
not  been  painted  at  all.  In  short,  du  Bousquier's  house, 
like  the  time  which  he  represented,  was  a  confused  mixture  of 
grandeur  and  squalor. 

Du  Bousquier  was  regarded  as  well-to-do,  but  he  led  the 
parasitical  life  of  the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  and  he  is  always 
rich  enough  that  spends  less  than  his  income.  His  one  serv- 
ant was  a  country  bumpkin,  a  dull-witted  youth  enough;  but 
he  had  been  trained,  by  slow  degrees,  to  suit  du  Bousquier's 
requirements,  until  he  had  learned,  much  as  an  ourang-outang 
might  learn,  to  scour  floors,  black  boots,  brush  clothes,  and  to 
come  for  his  master  of  anevening  with  a  lantern  if  it  was  dark, 
and  a  pair  of  sabots  if  it  rained.  On  great  occasions,  du 
Bousquier  made  him  discard  the  blue-checked  cotton  blouse 
with  loose  sagging  pockets  behind,  which  always  bulged  with 


26  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

a  handkerchief,  a  clasp  knife,  apples,  or  "stickjaw."  Ar- 
rayed in  a  regulation  suit  of  clothes,  he  accompanied  his 
master  to  wait  at,  table,  and  over-ate  himself  afterwards  with 
the  other  servants.  Like  many  other  mortals,  Eene  had  only 
stuff  enough  in  him  for  one  vice,  and  his  was  gluttony.  Du 
Bousquier  made  a  reward  of  this  service,  and  in  return  his 
Breton  factotum  was  absolutely  discreet. 

"What,  have  you  come  our  way,  miss?"  Rene  asked  when 
he  saw  Suzanne  in  the  doorway.  "It  is  not  your  day ;  we  have 
not  got  any  linen  for  Mme.  Lardot." 

"Big  stupid !"  laughed  the  fair  Suzanne,  as  she  went  up 
the  stairs,  leaving  Eene  to  finish  a  porringer  full  of  buck- 
wheat bannocks  boiled  in  milk. 

Du  Bousquier  was  still  in  bed,  ruminating  his  plans  for 
fortune.  To  him,  as  to  all  who  have  squeezed  the  orange  of 
pleasure,  there  was  nothing  left  but  ambition.  Ambition, 
like  gambling,  is  inexhaustible.  And,  moreover,  given  a  good 
constitution,  the  passions  of  the  brain  will  always  outlive 
the  heart's  passions. 

"Here  I  am!"  said  Suzanne,  sitting  down  on  the  bed;  the 
curtain-rings  grated  along  the  rods  as  she  swept  them  sharply 
back  with  an  imperious  gesture. 

"Quesaco,  my  charmer?"  asked  du  Bousquier,  sitting  up- 
right. 

"Monsieur,"  Suzanne  began,  with  much  gravity,  "you  must 
be  surprised  to  see  me  come  in  this  way;  but,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, it  is  no  use  my  minding  what  people  will  say." 

"What  is  all  this  about?"  asked  du  Bousquier,  folding  his 
arms. 

"Why,  do  you  not  understand?"  returned  Suzanne.  "I 
know"  (with  an  engaging  little  pout),  "I  know  how  ridiculous 
it  is  when  a  poor  girl  comes  to  bother  a  man  about  things  that 
you  think  mere  trifles.  But  if  you  really  knew  me,  monsieur, 
if  you  only  knew  all  that  I  would  do  for  a  man,  if  he  cared 
about  me  as  I  could  care  about  you,  you  would  never  repent 
of  marrying  me.  It  is  not  that  I  could  be  of  so  much  use  to 
you  here,  by  the  way ;  but  if  we  went  to  Paris,  you  should  see 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  27 

how  far  I  could  bring  a  man  of  spirit  with  such  brains  as 
yours,  and  especially  just  now,  when  they  are  re-making  the 
Government  from  top  to  bottom,  and  the  foreigners  are  the 
masters.  Between  ourselves,  does  this  thing  in  question  really 
matter  after  all  ?  Is  it  not  a  piece  of  good  fortune  for  which 
you  would  be  glad  to  pay  a  good  deal  one  of  these  days? 
For  whom  are  you  going  to  think  and  work  ?" 

"For  myself,  to  be  sure !"  du  Bousquier  answered  brutally. 

"Old  monster !  you  shall  never  be  a  father !"  said  Suzanne, 
with  a  ring  in  her  voice  which  turned  the  words  to  a  prophecy 
and  a  curse. 

"Come,  Suzanne,  no  nonsense;  I  am  dreaming  still,  I 
think." 

"What  more  do  you-  want  in  the  way  of  reality?"  cried 
Suzanne,  rising  to  her  feet.  Du  Bousquier  scrubbed  his  head 
with  his  cotton  nightcap,  which  he  twisted  round  and  round 
with  a  fidgety  energy  that  told  plainly  of  prodigious  mental 
ferment. 

"He  actually  believes  it!"  Suzanne  said  within  herself. 
"And  his  vanity  is  tickled.  Good  Lord,  how  easy  it  is  to  take 
them  in !" 

"Suzanne!  What  the  deuce  do  you  want  me  to  do?  It 

is  so  extraordinary  ...  I  that  thought The  fact 

is.  ...  But  no,  no,  it  can't  be " 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  cannot  marry  me  P* 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  no.     I  am  not  free." 

"Is  it  Mile.  Armande  or  Mile.  Cormon,  who  have  both 
refused  you  already  ?  Look  here,  M.  du  Bousquier,  it  is  not 
as  if  I  was  obliged  to  get  gendarmes  to  drag  you  to  the 
registrar's  office  to  save  my  character.  There  are  plenty  that 
would  marry  me,  but  I  have  no  intention  whatever  of  taking 
a  man  that  does  not  know  my  value.  You  may  be  sorry  some 
of  these  days  that  you  behaved  like  this ;  for  if  you  will  not 
take  your  chance  to-day,  not  for  gold,  nor  silver,  nor  any- 
thing in  this  world  will  I  give  it  you  again." 

"But,  Suzanne — are  you  sure ?" 

"Sir,  for  what  do  you  take  me?"  asked  the  girl,  draping 


28  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

herself  in  her  virtue.  "I  am  not  going  to  put  you  in  mind  of 
the  promises  you  made,  promises  that  have  been  the  ruin  of  a 
poor  girl,  when  all  her  fault  was  that  she  looked  too  high 
and  loved  too  much/' 

But  joy,  suspicion,  self-interest,  and  a  host  of  contending 
emotions  had  taken  possession  of  du  Bousquier.  For  a  long 
time  past  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  marry  Mile. 
Cormon;  for  after  long  ruminations  over  the  Charter,  he 
saw  that  it  opened  up  magnificent  prospects  to  his  ambition 
through  the  channels  of  a  representative  government.  His 
marriage  with  that  mature  spinster  would  raise  his  social 
position  very  much;  he  would  acquire  great  influence  in 
Alengon.  And  here  this  wily  Suzanne  had  conjured  up  a 
storm,  which  put  him  in  a  most  awkward  dilemma.  But  for 
that  private  hope  of  his,  he  would  have  married  Suzanne  out 
of  hand,  and  put  himself  openly  at  the  head  of  the  Liberal 
party  in  the  town.  Such  a  marriage  meant  the  final  re- 
nunciation of  the  best  society,  and  a  drop  into  the  ranks  of  the 
wealthy  tradesmen,  shopkeepers,  rich  manufacturers,  and 
graziers  who,  beyond  a  doubt,  would  carry  him  as  their  can- 
didate in  triumph.  Already  du  Bousquier  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  Opposition  benches.  He  did  not  attempt  to  hide  his 
solemn  deliberations ;  he  rubbed  his  hand  over  his  head,  made 
a  wisp  of  the  cotton  nightcap,  and  a  damaging  confession  of 
the  nudity  beneath  it.  As  for  Suzanne,  after  the  wont  of 
those  who  succeed  beyond  their  utmost  hopes,  she  sat  dum- 
founded.  To  hide  her  amazement  at  his  behavior,  she  drooped 
like  a  hapless  victim  before  her  seducer,  while  within  herself 
she  laughed  like  a  grisette  on  a  frolic. 

"My  dear  child,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  hanky- 
panky  of  this  sort." 

This  brief  formula  was  the  result  of  his  cogitations.  The 
ex-contractor  to  the  Government  prided  himself  upon  belong- 
ing to  that  particular  school  of  cynic  philosophers  which 
declines  to  be  "taken  in"  by  women,  and  includes  the  whole 
sex  in  one  category  as  suspicious  characters.  Strong-minded 
men  of  this  stamp,  weaklings  are  they  for  the  most  part,  have 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  29 

a  catechism  of  their  own  in  the  matter  of  womankind.  Every 
woman,  according  to  them,  from  the  Queen  of  France  to  the 
milliner,  is  at  heart  a  rake,  a  hussy,  a  dangerous  creature,  not 
to  say  a  bit  of  a  rascal,  a  liar  in  grain,  a  being  incapable  of  a 
serious  thought.  For  du  Bousquier  and  his  like,  woman  is  a 
maleficent  bayadere  that  must  be  left  to  dance,  and  sing,  and 
laugh.  They  see  nothing  holy,  nothing  great  in  woman;  for 
them  she  represents,  not  the  poetry  of  the  senses,  but  gross 
sensuality.  They  are  like  gluttons  who  should  mistake  the 
kitchen  for  the  dining-room.  On  this  showing,  a  man  must 
be  a  consistent  tyrant,  unless  he  means  to  be  enslaved.  And 
in  this  respect,  again,  du  Bousquier  and  the  Chevalier  de 
Valois  stood  at  opposite  poles. 

As  he  delivered  himself  of  the  above  remark,  he  flung  his 
nightcap  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  much  as  Gregory  the  Great 
might  have  flung  down  the  candle  while  he  launched  the 
thunders  of  an  excommunication;  and  Suzanne  learned  that 
the  old  bachelor  wore  a  false  front. 

"Bear  in  mind,  M.  du  Bousquier,  that  by  coming  here  I 
have  done  my  duty,"  she  remarked  majestically.  "Remember 
that  I  was  bound  to  offer  you  my  hand  and  to  ask  for  yours ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  remember  that  I  have  behaved  with  the 
dignity  of  a  self-respecting  woman ;  I  did  not  lower  myself  so 
far  as  to  cry  like  a  fool ;  I  did  not  insist ;  I  have  not  worried 
you  at  all.  Now  you  know  my  position.  You  know  that  I 
cannot  stay  in  Alengon.  If  I  do,  my  mother  will  beat  me; 
and  Mme.  Lardot  is  as  high  and  mighty  over  principles  as 
if  she  washed  and  ironed  with  them.  She  will  turn  me  away. 
And  where  am  I  to  go,  poor  work-girl  that  I  am?  To  the 
hospital  ?  Am  I  to  beg  for  bread  ?  Not  I.  I  would  sooner 
fling  myself  into  the  Brillante  or  the  Sarthe.  Now,  would  it 
not  be  simpler  for  me  to  go  to  Paris?  Mother  might  find 
some  excuse  for  sending  me,  an  uncle  wants  me  to  come,  or 
an  aunt  is  going  to  die,  or  some  lady  takes  an  interest  in  me. 
It  is  just  a  question  of  money  for  the  traveling  expenses  and 
— you  know  what " 

This  news  was  immeasurably  more  important  to  du  Bous- 


30  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

quier  than  to  the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  for  reasons  which  no 
one  knew  as  yet  but  the  two  rivals,  though  they  will  appear  in 
the  course  of  the  story.  At  this  point,  suffice  it  to  say  that 
Suzanne's  fib  had  thrown  the  sometime  forage-contractor's 
ideas  into  such  confusion  that  he  was  incapable  of  thinking 
seriously.  But  for  that  bewilderment,  but  for  the  secret  joy 
in  his  heart  (for  a  man's  own  vanity  is  a  swindler  that  never 
lacks  a  dupe),  it  must  have  struck  him  that  any  honest  girl, 
with  a  heart  still  unspoiled,  would  have  died  a  hundred  deaths 
rather  than  enter  upon  such  a  discussion,  or  make  a  demand 
for  money.  He  must  have  seen  the  look  in  the  girl's  eyes, 
seen  the  gambler's  ruthless  meanness  that  would  take  a  life  to 
gain  money  for  a  stake. 

"Would  you  really  go  to  Paris  ?"  he  asked. 

The  words  brought  a  twinkle  to  Suzanne's  gray  eyes,  but  it 
was  lost  upon  du  Bousquier's  self-satisfaction. 

"I  would  indeed,  sir." 

But  at  this  du  Bousquier  broke  out  into  a  singular  lament. 
He  had  just  paid  the  balance  of  the  purchase-money  for  his 
house;  and  there  was  the  painter,  and  the  glazier,  and  the 
bricklayer,  and  the  carpenter.  Suzanne  let  him  talk;  she 
was  waiting  for  the  figures.  Du  Bousquier  at  last  proposed 
three  hundred  francs,  and  at  this  Suzanne  got  up  as  if  to 

go- 

"Eh,  what!  Where  are  you  going?"  du  Bousquier  cried 
uneasily. — "A  fine  thing  to  be  a  bachelor,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"I'll  be  hanged  if  I  remember  doing  more  than  rumple  the 
girl's  collar ;  and  hey  presto !  on  the  strength  of  a  joke  she 
takes  upon  herself  to  draw  a  bill  upon  you,  point-blank !" 

Suzanne  meanwhile  began  to  cry.  "Monsieur,"  she  said, 
"I  am  going  to  Mme.  Granson,  the  treasurer  of  the  Maternity 
Fund;  she  pulled  one  poor  girl  in  the  same  straits  out  of 
the  water  (as  you  may  say)  to  my  knowledge." 

"Mme.  Granson?" 

"Yes.  She  is  related  to  Mile.  Cormon,  the  lady  patroness 
of  the  society.  Asking  your  pardon,  some  ladies  in  the  town 
have  started  a  society  that  will  keep  many  a  poor  creature 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  31 

from  making  away  with  her  child,  like  that  pretty  Faustina 
of  Argentan  did;  and  paid  for  it  with  her  life  at  Mortagne 
just  three  years  ago." 

"Here,  Suzanne,"  returned  du  Bousquier,  holding  out  a 
key,  "open  the  desk  yourself.  There  is  a  bag  that  has  been 
opened,  with  six  hundred  francs  still  left  in  it.  It  is  all  I 
have." 

Du  Bousquier's  chopfallen  expression  plainly  showed  how 
little  goodwill  went  with  his  compliance. 

"An  old  thief!"  said  Suzanne  to  herself.  "I  will  tell 
tales  about  his  false  hair !"  Mentally  she  compared  him  with 
that  delightful  old  Chevalier  de  Valois;  he  had  given  her 
nothing,  but  he  understood  her,  he  had  advised  her,  he  had 
the  welfare  of  his  grisettes  at  heart. 

"If  you  are  deceiving  me,  Suzanne,"  exclaimed  the  object 
of  this  unflattering  comparison,  as  he  watched  her  hand  in 
the  drawer,  "you  shall " 

"So,  monsieur,  you  would  not  give  me  the  money  if  I 
asked  you  for  it?"  interrupted  she  with  queenly  insolence. 

Once  recalled  to  the  ground  of  gallantry,  recollections  of 
his  prime  came  back  to  the  ex-contractor.  He  grunted  as- 
sent. Suzanne  took  the  bag  and  departed,  first  submitting 
her  forehead  to  a  kiss  which  he  gave,  but  in  a  manner  which 
seemed  to  sa}r,  "This  is  an  expensive  privilege;  but  it  is 
better  than  being  brow-beaten  by  counsel  in  a  court  of  law 
as  the  seducer  of  a  young  woman  accused  of  child  murder." 

Suzanne  slipped  the  bag  into  a  pouch-shaped  basket  on  her 
arm,  execrating  du  Bousquier's  stinginess  as  she  did  so,  for 
she  wanted  a  thousand  francs.  If  a  girl  is  once  possessed 
by  a  desire,  and  has  taken  the  first  step  in  trickery  and  deceit, 
she  will  go  to  great  lengths.  As  the  fair  clear-stareher  took 
her  way  along  the  Rue  du  Bercail,  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
her  that  the  Maternity  Fund  under  Mile.  Cormon's  presidency 
would  probably  make  up  the  sum  which  she  regarded  as 
sufficient  for  a  start,  a  very  large  amount  in  the  eyes  of  an 
Alenqon  grisette.  And  besides,  she  hated  du  Bousquier,  and 

du  Bousquier  seemed  frightened  when  she  talked  of  confess- 
VOL.  7—25 


32  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

ing  her  so-called  strait  to  Mme.  Granson.  Wherefore 
Suzanne  determined  that  whether  or  no  she  made  a  farthing 
out  of  the  Maternity  Fund,  she  would  entangle  du  Bousquier 
in  the  inextricable  undergrowth  of  the  gossip  of  a  country 
town.  There  is  something  of  a  monkey's  love  of  mischief  in 
every  grisette.  Suzanne  composed  her  countenance  dolorously 
and  betook  herself  accordingly  to  Mme.  Granson. 

Mme.  Granson  was  the  widow  of  a  lieutenant-colonel  of 
artillery  who  fell  at  Jena.  Her  whole  yearly  income  con- 
sisted of  a  pension  of  nine  hundred  francs  for  her  lifetime, 
and  her  one  possession  besides  was  a  son  whose  education  and 
maintenance  had  absorbed  every  penny  of  her  savings.  She 
lived  in  the  Rue  du  Bercail,  in  one  of  the  cheerless  ground- 
floor  apartments  through  which  you  can  see  from  back  to 
front  at  a  glance  as  you  walk  down  the  main  street  of  any  little 
town.  Three  steps,  rising  pyramid  fashion,  brought  you  to 
the  level  of  the  house  door,  which  opened  upon  a  passage-way 
and  a  little  yard  beyond,  with  a  wooden-roofed  staircase  at 
the  further  end.  Mme.  Granson's  kitchen  and  dining-room 
occupied  the  space  on  one  side  of  the  passage,  on  the  other 
side  a  single  room  did  duty  for  a  variety  of  purposes,  for 
the  widow's  bedroom  among  others.  Her  son,  a  young  man 
of  three-and-twenty,  slept  upstairs  in  an  attic  above  the  first 
floor.  Athanase  Granson  contributed  six  hundred  francs  to 
the  poor  mother's  housekeeping.  He  was  distantly  related 
to  Mile.  Cormon,  whose  influence  had  obtained  him  a  little 
post  in  the  registrar's  office,  where  he  was  employed  in  making 
out  certificates  of  births,  marriages,  and  deaths. 

After  this,  any  one  can  see  the  little  chilly  yellow-curtained 
parlor,  the  furniture  covered  with  yellow  Utrecht  velvet,  and 
Mme.  Granson  going  round  the  room,  after  her  visitors  had 
left,  to  straighten  the  little  straw  mats  put  down  in  front  of 
each  chair,  so  as  to  save  the  waxed  and  polished  red  brick 
floor  from  contact  with  dirty  boots;  and,  this  being  accom- 
plished, returning  to  her  place  beside  her  work-table  under 
the  portrait  of  her  lieutenant-general.  The  becushioned 
armchair,  in  which  she  sat  at  her  sewing,  was  always  drawn 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  33 

up  between  the  two  windows,  so  that  she  could  look  up  and 
down  the  Eue  du  Bercail  and  see  every  one  that  passed.  She 
was  a  good  sort  of  woman,  dressed  with  a  homely  simplicity 
in  keeping  with  a  pale  face,  beaten  thin,  as  it  were,  by  many 
cares.  You  felt  the  stern  soberness  of  poverty  in  every  little 
detail  in  that  house,  just  as  you  breathed  a  moral  atmosphere 
of  austerity  and  upright  provincial  ways. 

Mother  and  son  at  this  moment  were  sitting  together  in  the 
dining-room  over  their  breakfast — a  cup  of  coffee,  bread  and 
butter  and  radishes.  And  here,  if  the  reader  is  to  under- 
stand how  gladly  Mme.  Granson  heard  Suzanne,  some  ex- 
planation of  the  secret  hopes  of  the  household  must  be  given. 

Athanase  Granson  was  a  thin,  hollow-cheeked  young  man  of 
medium  height,  with  a  white  face  in  which  a  pair  of  dark 
eyes,  bright  with  thought,  looked  like  two  marks  made  with 
charcoal.  The  somewhat  worn  contours  of  that  face,  the 
curving  line  of  the  lips,  a  sharply  turned-up  chin,  a  regu- 
larly cut  marble  forehead,  a  melancholy  expression  caused  by 
the  consciousness  of  power  on  the  one  hand  and  of  poverty 
on  the  other, — all  these  signs  and  characteristics  told  of  im- 
prisoned genius.  So  much  so  indeed,  that  anywhere  but  at 
Alencon  his  face  would  have  won  help  for  him  from  dis- 
tinguished men,  or  from  the  women  that  can  discern  genius 
incognito.  For  if  this  was  not  genius,  at  least  it  was  the  out- 
ward form  that  genius  takes;  and  if  the  strength  of  a  high 
heart  was  wanting,  it  looked  out  surely  from  those  eyes.  And 
yet,  while  Athanase  could  find  expression  for  the  loftiest  feel- 
ing, an  outer  husk  of  shyness  spoiled  everything  in  him,  down 
to  the  very  charm  of  youth,  just  as  the  frost  of  penury  dis- 
heartened every  effort.  Shut  in  by  the  narrow  circle  of  pro- 
vincial life,  without  approbation,  encouragement,  or  any  way 
of  escape,  the  thought  within  him  was  dying  out  before  its 
dawn.  And  Athanase  besides  had  the  fierce  pride  which  pov- 
erty intensifies  in  certain  natures,  the  kind  of  pride  by  which 
a  man  grows  great  in  the  stress  of  battle  with  men  and  cir- 
cumstances, while  at  the  outset  it  only  handicaps  him. 

Genius  manifests  itself  in  two  ways — either  by  taking  its 


34  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

own  as  soon  as  he  finds  it,  like  a  Napoleon  or  a  Moliere,  or 
by  patiently  revealing  itself  and  waiting  for  recognition. 
Young  Granson  belonged  to  the  latter  class.  He  was  easily 
discouraged,  ignorant  of  his  value.  His  turn  of  mind  was 
contemplative,  he  lived  in  thought  rather  than  in  action,  and 
possibly,  to  those  who  cannot  imagine  genius  without  the 
Frenchman's  spark  of  enthusiasm,  he  might  have  seemed  in- 
complete. But  Athanase's  power  lay  in  the  world  of  thought. 
He  was  to  pass  through  successive  phases  of  emotion,  hidden 
from  ordinary  eyes,  to  one  of  those  sudden  resolves  which 
bring  the  chapter  to  a  close  and  set  fools  declaring  that  "the 
man  is  mad."  The  world's  contempt  for  poverty  was 
sapping  the  life  in  Athanase.  The  bow,  continually  strung 
tighter  and  tighter,  was  slackened  by  the  enervating  close 
air  of  a  solitude  with  never  a  breath  of  fresh  air  in  it.  He 
was  giving  way  under  the  strain  of  a  cruel  and  fruit- 
less struggle.  Athanase  had  that  in  him  which  might 
have  placed  his  name  among  the  foremost  names  of  France ; 
he  had  known  what  it  was  to  gaze  with  glowing  eyes  over 
Alpine  heights  and  fields  of  air  whither  unfettered  genius 
soars,  and  now  he  was  pining  to  death  like  some  caged  and 
starved  eagle. 

While  he  had  worked  on  unnoticed  in  the  town  library,  he 
buried  his  dreams  of  fame  in  his  own  soul  lest  they  should  in- 
jure his  prospects ;  and  he  carried  besides  another  secret  hid- 
den even  more  deeply  in  his  heart,  the  secret  love  which  hol- 
lowed his  cheeks  and  sallowed  his  forehead. 

Athanase  loved  his  distant  cousin,  that  Mile.  Cormon,  for 
whom  his  unconscious  rivals  du  Bousquier  and  the  Chevalier 
de  Valois  were  lying  in  ambush.  It  was  a  love  born  of  self- 
interest.  Mile.  Cormon  was  supposed  to  be  one  of  the  richest 
people  ;n  the  town ;  and  he,  poor  boy,  had  been  drawn  to  love 
her  partly  through  the  desire  for  material  welfare,  partly 
through  a  wish  formed  times  without  number  to  gild  his 
mother's  declining  years ;  and  partly  also  through  cravings  for 
the  physical  comfort  necessary  to  men  who  live  an  intellectual 
h.fe.  In  nis  own  eyes,  his  love  was  dishonored  by  its  very 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  35 

natural  origin ;  and  he  was  afraid  of  the  ridicule  which  people 
pour  on  the  love  of  a  3roung  man  of  three-and-twenty  for  a  wo- 
man of  forty.  And  yet  his  love  was  quite  sincere.  Much  that 
happens  in  the  provinces  would  be  improbable  upon  the  face  of 
it  anywhere  else,  especially  in  matters  of  this  kind. 

But  in  a  country  town  there  are  no  unforeseen  con- 
tingencies ;  there  is  no  coming  and  going,  no  mystery,  no  such 
thing  as  chance.  Marriage  is  a  necessity,  and  no  family  will  ac- 
cept a  man  of  dissolute  life.  A  connection  between  a  young  fel- 
low like  Athanase  and  a  handsome  girl  might  seem  a  natural 
thing  enough  in  a  great  city;  in  a  country  town  it  would  be 
enough  to  ruin  a  young  man's  chances  of  marriage,  especially 
if  he  were  poor;  for  when  the  prospective  bridegroom  is 
wealthy  an  awkward  business  of  this  sort  may  be  smoothed 
over.  Between  the  degradation  of  certain  courses  and  a 
sincere  love,  a  man  that  is  not  heartless  can  make  but  one 
choice  if  he  happens  to  be  poor;  he  will  prefer  the  disad- 
vantages of  virtue  to  the  disadvantages  of  vice.  But  in  a 
country  town  the  number  of  women  with  whom  a  young  map, 
can  fall  in  love  is  strictly  limited.  A  pretty  girl-  with 
a  fortune  is  beyond  his  reach  in  a  place  where  every  one's 
income  is  known  to  a  farthing.  A  penniless  beauty  is  equally 
out  of  the  question.  To  take  her  for  a  wife  would  be  "to 
marry  hunger  and  thirst,"  as  the  provincial  saying  goes. 
Finally,  celibacy  has  its  dangers  in  youth.  These  reflections 
explain  how  it  has  come  to  pass  that  marriage  is  the  very 
basis  of  provincial  life. 

Men  in  whom  genius  is  hot  and  unquenchable,  who  are 
forced  to  take  their  stand  on  the  independence  of  poverty, 
ought  to  leave  these  cold  regions;  in  the  provinces  thought 
meets  with  the  persecution  of  brutal  indifference,  and  no 
woman  cares  or  dares  to  play  the  part  of  a  sister  of  charity 
to  the  worker,  the  lover  of  art  or  sciences. 

Who  can  rightly  understand  Athanase's  love  for  Mile.  Cor- 
mon  ?  Not  the  rich,  the  sultans  of  society,  who  can  find  seragl- 
ios at  their  pleasure;  not  respectability,  keeping  to  the  track 
beaten  hard  by  prejudice;  nor  yet  those  women  who  shut 


36  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

their  eyes  to  the  cravings  of  the  artist  temperament,  and,  tak- 
ing it  for  granted  that  both  sexes  are  governed  by  the  same 
laws,  insist  upon  a  s}7stem  of  reciprocity  in  their  particular 
virtues.  The  appeal  must,  perhaps,  be  made  to  young  men 
who  suffer  from  the  repression  of  young  desires  just  as  they 
are  putting  forth  their  full  strength;  to  the  artist  whose 
genius  is  stilled  within  him  by  poverty  till  it  becomes  a  dis- 
ease ;  to  power  at  first  unsupported,  persecuted,  and  too  often 
unfriended  till  it  emerges  at  length  triumphant  from  the 
twofold  agony  of  soul  and  body. 

These  will  know  the  throbbing  pangs  of  the  cancer  which 
was  gnawing  Athanase.  Such  as  these  have  raised  long,  cruel 
debates  within  themselves,  with  the  so  high  end  in  sight  and 
no  means  of  attaining  to  it.  They  have  passed  through  the 
experience  of  abortive  effort;  they  have  left  the  spawn  of 
genius  on  the  barren  sands.  They  know  that  the  strength  of 
desire  is  as  the  scope  of  the  imagination ;  the  higher  the  leap, 
the  lower  the  fall ;  and  how  many  restraints  are  broken  in  such 
falls !  These,  like  Athanase,  catch  glimpses  of  a  glorious 
future  in  the  distance;  all  that  lies  between  seems  but  a 
transparent  film  of  gauze  to  their  piercing  sight ;  but  of  that 
film  which  scarcely  obscures  the  vision,  society  makes  a  wall 
of  brass.  Urged  on  by  their  vocation,  by  the  artist's  instinct 
within  them,  they  too  seek  times  without  number  to  make  a 
stepping-stone  of  sentiments  which  society  turns  in  the  same 
way  to  practical  ends.  What !  when  marriages  in  the  prov- 
inces are  calculated  and  arranged  on  every  side  with  a  view 
to  securing  material  welfare,  shall  it  be  forbidden  to  a  strug- 
gling artist  or  man  of  science  to  keep  two  ends  in  view,  to 
try  to  ensure  his  own  subsistence  that  the  thought  within  him 
may  live  ? 

Athanase  Granson,  with  such  ideas  as  these  fermenting  in 
his  head,  thought  at  first  of  marriage  with  Mile.  Cormon  as  a 
definite  solution  of  the  problem  of  existence.  He  would  be 
free  to  work  for  fame,  he  could  make  his  mother  comfortable, 
and  he  felt  sure  of  himself — he  knew  that  he  could  be  faith- 
ful to  Mile.  Cormon.  But  soon  his  purpose  bred  a  real  passion 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  37 

in  him.  It  was  an  unconscious  process.  He  set  himself  to 
study  Mile.  Cormon ;  then  familiarity  exercised  its  spell,  and 
at  length  Athanase  saw  nothing  but  beauties — the  defects  were 
all  forgotten. 

The  senses  count  for  so  much  in  the  love  of  a  young  man  of 
three-and-twenty.  Through  the  heat  of  desire  woman  is  seen 
as  through  a  prism.  From  this  point  of  view  it  was  a  touch 
of  genius  in  Beaumarchais  to  make  the  page  Cherubino  in  the 
play  strain  Marcellina  to  his  heart.  If  you  recollect,  more- 
over, that  poverty  restricted  Athanase  to  a  life  of  great  loneli- 
ness, that  there  was  no  other  woman  to  look  at,  that  his  eyes 
were  always  fastened  upon  Mile.  Cormon,  and  that  all  the 
light  in  the  picture  was  concentrated  upon  her,  it  seems 
natural,  does  it  not,  that  he  should  love  her?  The  feeling 
hidden  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  could  but  grow  stronger 
day  by  day.  Desire  and  pain  and  hope  and  meditation,  in 
silence  and  repose,  were  filling  up  Athanase's  soul  to  the  brim ; 
every  hour  added  its  drop.  As  his  senses  came  to  the  aid  of 
imagination  and  widened  the  inner  horizon,  Mile.  Cormon 
became  more  and  more  awe-inspiring,  and  he  grew  more  and 
more  timid. 

The  mother  had  guessed  it  all.  She  was  a  provincial,  and 
she  frankly  calculated  the  advantages  of  the  match.  Mile. 
Cormon  might  think  herself  very  lucky  to  marry  a  young 
man  of  twenty-three  with  plenty  of  brains,  a  likely  man  to 
do  honor  to  his  name  and  country.  Still  the  obstacles,  Atha- 
nase's poverty  and  Mile.  Cormon's  age,  seemed  to  her  to  be  in- 
surmountable ;  there  was  nothing  for  it  that  she  could  see  but 
patience.  She  had  a  policy  of  her  own,  like  du  Bousquier  and 
the  Chevalier  de  Valois ;  she  was  on  the  lookout  for  her  oppor- 
tunity, waiting,  with  wits  sharpened  by  self-interest  and  a 
mother's  love,  for  the  propitious  moment. 

Of  the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  Mme.  Granson  had  no  sus- 
picion whatsoever;  du  Bousquier  she  still  credited  with  views 
upon  the  lady,  albeit  Mile.  Cormon  had  once  refused  him.  An 
adroit  and  secret  enemy,  Mme.  Granson  did  the  ex-contractor 
untold  harm  to  serve  the  son  to  whom  she  had  not  spoken  a 


38  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

word.  After  this,  who  does  not  see  the  importance  of  Su- 
zanne's lie  once  confided  to  Mme.  Granson  ?  What  a  weapon 
put  into  the  hands  of  the  charitable  treasurer  of  the  Maternity 
Fund!  How  demurely  she  would  carry  the  tale  from  house 
to  house  when  she  asked  for  subscriptions  for  the  chaste 
Suzanne ! 

At  this  particular  moment  Athanase  was  pensively  sitting 
with  his  elbow  on  the  table,  balancing  a  spoon  on  the  edge  of 
the  empty  bowl  before  him.  He  looked  with  unseeing  eyes 
round  the  poor  room,  over  the  walls  covered  with  an  old- 
fashioned  paper  only  seen  in  wine-shops,  at  the  window-cur- 
tains with  a  chessboard  pattern  of  pink-and-white  squares,  at 
the  red-brick  floor,  the  straw-bottomed  chairs,  the  painted 
wooden  sideboard,  the  glass  door  that  opened  into  the  kitchen. 
As  he  sat  facing  his  mother  and  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and 
as  the  fireplace  was  almost  opposite  the  door,  the  first  thing 
which  caught  Suzanne's  eyes  was  his  pale  face,  with  the  light 
from  the  street  window  falling  full  upon  it,  a  face  framed  in 
dark  hair,  and  eyes  with  the  gleam  of  despair  in  them,  and  a 
fever  kindled  by  the  morning's  thoughts. 

The  grisette  surely  knows  by  instinct  the  pain  and  sorrow 
of  love ;  at  the  sight  of  Athanase,  she  felt  that  sudden  electric 
thrill  which  comes  we  know  not  whence.  We  cannot  explain 
it ;  some  strong-minded  persons  deny  that  it  exists,  but  many 
a  woman  and  many  a  man  has  felt  that  shock  of  sympathy. 
It  is  a  flash,  lighting  up  the  darkness  of  the  future,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  presentiment  of  the  pure  joy  of  love  shared  by 
two  souls,  and  a  certainty  that  this  other  too  understands.  It 
is  more  like  the  strong,  sure  touch  of  a  master  hand  upon  the 
clavier  of  the  senses  than  anything  else.  Eyes  are  riveted  by 
an  irresistible  fascination,  hearts  are  troubled,  the  music  of 
joy  rings  in  the  ears  and  thrills  the  soul ;  a  voice  cries,  "It  is 
he !"  And  then — then  very  likely,  reflection  throws  a  douche 
of  cold  water  over  all  this  turbulent  emotion,  and  there  is  an 
end  of  it. 

In  a  moment,  swift  as  a  clap  of  thunder,  a  broadside  of 
new  thoughts  poured  in  upon  Suzanne.  A  lightning  flash  of 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  39 

love  burned  the  weeds  which  had  sprung  up  in  dissipation 
and  wantonness.  She  saw  all  that  she  was  losing  by  blighting 
her  name  with  a  lie,  the  desecration,  the  degradation  of  it. 
Only  last  evening  this  idea  had  been  a  joke,  now  it  was  like  a 
heavy  sentence  passed  upon  her.  She  recoiled  before  her  suc- 
cess. But,  after  all,  it  was  quite  impossible  that  anything 
should  come  of  this  meeting;  and  the  thought  of  Athanase's 
poverty,  and  a  vague  hope  of  making  money  and  coming  back 
from  Paris  with  both  hands  full,  to  say,  "I  loved  you  all  along" 
— or  fate,  if  you  will  have  it  so — dried  up  the  beneficent  dew. 
The  ambitious  damsel  asked  shyly  to  speak  for  a  moment  with 
Mme.  Granson,  who  took  her  into  her  bedroom. 

When  Suzanne  came  out  again  she  looked  once  more  at 
Athanase.  He  was  still  sitting  in  the  same  attitude.  She 
choked  back  her  tears. 

As  for  Mme.  Granson,  she  was  radiant.  She  had  found  a 
terrible  weapon  to  use  against  du  Bousquier  at  last ;  she  could 
deal  him  a  deadly  blow.  So  she  promised  the  poor  victim  of 
seduction  the  support  of  all  the  ladies  who  subscribed  to  the 
Maternity  Fund.  She  foresaw  a  dozen  calls  in  prospect.  In 
the  course  of  the  morning  and  afternoon  she  would  conjure 
down  a  terrific  storm  upon  the  elderly  bachelor's  head.  The 
Chevalier  de  Valois  certainly  foresaw  the  turn  that  matters 
were  likely  to  take,  but  he  had  not  expected  anything  like  the 
amount  of  scandal  that  came  of  it. 

"We  are  going  to  dine  with  Mile.  Cormon,  you  know,  dear 
boy,"  said  Mme.  Granson ;  "take  rather  more  pains  with  your 
appearance.  It  is  a  mistake  to  neglect  your  dress  as  you  do ; 
you  look  so  untidy.  Put  on  your  best  frilled  shirt  and  your 
green  cloth  coat.  I  have  my  reasons,"  she  added,  with  a 
mysterious  air.  "And  besides,  there  will  be  a  great  many 
people;  Mile.  Cormon  is  going  to  the  Prebaudet  directly.  If 
a  young  man  is  thinking  of  marrying,  he  ought  to  make  him- 
self agreeable  in  every  possible  way.  If  girls  would  only  tell 
the  truth,  my  boy,  dear  me!  you  would  be  surprised  at  the 
things  that  take  their  fancy.  It  is  often  quite  enough  if  a 
young  man  rides  by  at  the  head  of  a  company  of  artillery,  or 


40  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

comes  to  a  dance  in  a  suit  of  clothes  that  fits  him  passably 
well.  A  certain  way  of  carrying  the  head,  a  melancholy  atti- 
tude, is  enough  to  set  a  girl  imagining  a  whole  life ;  we  invent 
a  romance  to  suit  the  hero;  often  he  is  only  a  stupid  young 
man,  but  the  marriage  is  made.  Take  notice  of  M.  de  Valois, 
study  him,  copy  his  manners ;  see  how  he  looks  at  ease ;  he  has 
not  a  constrained  manner,  as  you  have.  And  talk  a  little; 
any  one  might  think  that  you  knew  nothing  at  all,  you  that 
know  Hebrew  by  heart." 

Athanase  heard  her  submissively,  but  he  looked  surprised. 
He  rose,  took  his  cap,  and  went  back  to  his  work. 

"Can  mother  have  guessed  my  secret?"  he  thought,  as  he 
went  round  by  the  Eue  du  Vat-Noble  where  Mile.  Cormon 
lived,  a  little  pleasure  in  which  he  indulged  of  a  morning. 
His  head  was  swarming  with  romantic  fancies. 

"How  little  she  thinks  that  going  past  her  house  at  this 
moment  is  a  young  man  who  would  love  her  dearly,  and  be 
true  to  her,  and  never  cause  her  a  single  care,  and  leave  her 
fortune  entirely  in  her  own  hands !  Oh  me !  what  a  strange 
fatality  it  is  that  we  two  should  live  as  we  do  in  the  same  town 
and  within  a  few  paces  of  each  other,  and  yet  nothing  can 
bring  us  any  nearer !  How  if  I  spoke  to  her  to-night  ?" 

Meanwhile  Suzanne  went  home  to  her  mother,  thinking  the 
while  of  poor  Athanase,  feeling  that  for  him  she  could  find  it 
in  her  heart  to  do  what  many  a  woman  must  have  longed  to 
do  for  the  one  beloved  with  superhuman  strength ;  she  could 
have  made  a  stepping-stone  of  her  beautiful  body  if  so  he 
might  come  to  his  kingdom  the  sooner. 

And  now  we  must  enter  the  house  where  all  the  actors  in 
this  Scene  (Suzanne  excepted)  were  to  meet  that  very  even- 
ing, the  house  belonging  to  the  old  maid,  the  converging 
point  of  so  many  interests.  As  for  Suzanne,  that  young 
woman  with  her  well-grown  beauty,  with  courage  sufficient  to 
burn  her  boats,  like  Alexander,  and  to  begin  the  battle  of  life 
with  an  uncalled-for  sacrifice  of  her  character,  she  now  dis- 
appears from  the  stage  after  bringing  about  a  violently  excit- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  41 

ing  situation.  Her  wishes,  moreover,  were  more  than  ful- 
filled. A  few  days  afterwards  she  left  her  native  place  with  a 
stock  of  money  and  fine  clothes,  including  a  superb  green  rep 
gown  and  a  green  bonnet  lined  with  rose  color,  M.  de  Valois' 
gifts,  which  Suzanne  liked  better  than  anything  else,  better 
even  than  the  Maternity  Society's  money.  If  the  Chevalier 
had  gone  to  Paris  while  Suzanne  was  in  her  hey-day,  she 
would  assuredly  have  left  all  for  him, 

And  so  this  chaste  Susanna,  of  whom  the  elders  scarcely 
had  more  than  a  glimpse,  settled  herself  comfortably  and 
hopefully  in  Paris,  while  all  Alenc,on  was  deploring  the  mis- 
fortunes with  which  the  ladies  of  the  Charitable  and  Mater- 
nity Societies  had  manifested  so  lively  a  sympathy. 

While  Suzanne  might  be  taken  as  a  type  of  the  handsome 
Norman  virgins  who  furnish,  on  the  showing  of  a  learned 
physician,  one-third  of  the  supply  devoured  by  the  monster, 
Paris,  she  entered  herself,  and  remained  in  those  higher 
branches  of  her  profession  in  which  some  regard  is  paid  to 
appearances.  In  an  age  in  which,  as  M.  de  Valois  said, 
"woman  has  ceased  to  be  woman,"  she  was  known  merely  as 
Mme.  du  Val-Noble;  in  other  times  she  would  have  rivaled 
an  Imperia,  a  Ehodope,  a  Ninon.  One  of  the  most  distin- 
guished writers  of  the  Restoration  took  her  under  his  protec- 
tion, and  very  likely  will  marry  her  some  day ;  he  is  a  journal- 
ist, and  above  public  opinion,  seeing  that  he  creates  a  new  one 
every  six  years. 

In  almost  every  prefecture  of  the  second  magnitude  there 
is  some  salon  frequented  not  exactly  by  the  cream  of  the  local 
society,  but  by  personages  both  considerable  and  well  consid- 
ered. The  host  and  hostess  probably  will  be  among  the  fore- 
most people  in  the  town.  To  them  all  houses  are  open;  no 
entertainment,  no  public  dinner  is  given,  but  they  are  asked 
to  it ;  but  in  their  salon  you  will  not  meet  the  gens  a  chateau — • 
lords  of  the  manor,  peers  of  France  living  on  their  broad 
acres,  and  persons  of  the  highest  quality  in  the  department, 
though  these  are  all  on  visiting  terms  with  the  family,  and 
exchange  invitations  to  dinners  and  evening  parties.  The 


42  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

mixed  society  to  be  found  there  usually  consists  of  the  lesser 
noblesse  resident  in  the  town,  with  the  clergy  and  judicial 
authorities.  It  is  an  influential  assemblage.  All  the  wit  and 
sense  of  the  district  is  concentrated  in  its  solid,  unpretentious 
ranks.  Everybody  in  the  set  knows  the  exact  amount  of  his 
neighbor's  income,  and  professes  the  utmost  indifference  to 
dress  and  luxury,  trifles  held  to  be  mere  childish  vanity  com- 
pared with  the  acquisition  of  a  mouchoir  a  bceufs — a  pocket- 
handkerchief  of  some  ten  or  a  dozen  acres,  purchased  after  as 
many  years  of  pondering  and  intriguing  and  a  prodigious 
deal  of  diplomacy. 

Unshaken  in  its  prejudices  whether  good  or  ill,  the  coterie 
goes  on  its  way  without  a  look  before  or  behind.  Nothing 
from  Paris  is  allowed  to  pass  without  a  prolonged  scrutiny; 
innovations  are  ridiculous,  and  consols  and  cashmere  shawls 
alike  objectionable.  Provincials  read  nothing  and  wish  to 
learn  nothing;  for  them,  science,  literature,  and  mechanical 
invention  are  as  the  thing  that  is  not.  If  a  prefect  does  not 
suit  their  notions,  they  do  their  best  to  have  him  removed; 
if  this  cannot  be  done,  they  isolate  him.  So  will  you  see  the 
inmates  of  a  beehive  wall  up  an  intruding  snail  with  wax. 
Finally,  of  the  gossip  of  the  salon,  history  is  made.  Young 
married  women  put  in  an  appearance  there  occasionally 
(though  the  card-table  is  the  one  resource)  that  their  conduct 
may  be  stamped  with  the  approval  of  the  coterie  and  their 
social  status  confirmed. 

Native  susceptibilities  are  sometimes  wounded  by  the  su- 
premacy of  a  single  house,  but  the  rest  comfort  themselves 
with  the  thought  that  they  save  the  expense  entailed  by  the 
position.  Sometimes  it  happens  that  no  one  can  afford  to  keep 
open  house,  and  then  the  bigwigs  of  the  place  look  about  them 
for  some  harmless  person  whose  character,  position,  and  social 
standing  offer  guarantees  for  the  neutrality  of  the  ground, 
and  alarm  nobody's  vanity  or  self-interest.  This  had  been  the 
case  at  Alengon.  For  a  long  time  past  the  best  society  of  the 
town  has  been  wont  to  assemble  in  the  house  of  the  old  maid 
before  mentioned,  who  little  suspected  Mme.  Granson's  de- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  4'6 

signs  on  her  fortune,  or  the  secret  hopes  of  the  two  elderly 
bachelors  who  have  just  been  unmasked. 

Mile.  Cormon  was  Mme.  Granson's  fourth  cousin.  She 
lived  with  her  mother's  brother,  a  sometime  vicar-general  of 
the  bishopric  of  Seez;  she  had  been  her  uncle's  ward,  and 
would  one  day  inherit  his  fortune.  Rose  Marie  Victoire 
Cormon  was  the  last  representative  of  a  house  which,  plebeian 
though  it  was,  had  associated  and  often  allied  itself  with  the 
noblesse,  and  ranked  among  the  oldest  families  in  the  prov- 
ince. In  former  times  the  Cormons  had  been  intendants  of 
the  duchy  of  Alenc,on,  and  had  given  a  goodly  number  of 
magistrates  to  the  bench,  and  several  bishops  to  the  Church. 
M.  de  Sponde,  Mile.  Cormon's  maternal  grandfather,  was 
elected  by  the  noblesse  to  the  States-General ;  and  M.  Cormon, 
her  father,  had  been  asked  to  represent  the  Third  Estate,  but 
neither  of  them  accepted  the  responsibility.  For  the  last 
century,  the  daughters  of  the  house  had  married  into  the 
noble  families  of  the  province,  in  such  sort  that  the  Cormons 
were  grafted  into  pretty  nearly  every  genealogical  tree  in  the 
duchy.  No  burgher  family  came  so  near  being  noble. 

The  house  in  which  the  present  Mile.  Cormon  lived  had 
never  passed  out  of  the  family  since  it  was  built  by  Pierre 
Cormon  in  the  reign  of  Henri  IV. ;  and  of  all  the  old  maid's 
worldy  possessions,  this  one  appealed  most  to  the  greed  of  her 
elderly  suitors;  though,  so  far  from  bringing  in  money,  the 
ancestral  home  of  the  Cormons  was  a  positive  expense  to  its 
owner.  But  it  is  such  an  unusual  thing,  in  the  very  centre  of 
a  country  town,  to  find  a  house  handsome  without,  convenient 
within,  and  free  from  mean  surroundings,  that  all  Alengon 
shared  the  feeling  of  envy. 

The  old  mansion  stood  exactly  half-way  down  the  Rue  du 
Val-Noble,  The  Val-Noble,  as  it  was  called,  probably  because 
the  Brillante,  the  little  stream  which  flows  through  the  town, 
has  hollowed  out  a  little  valley  for  itself  in  a  dip  of  the  land 
thereabouts.  The  most  noticeable  feature  of  the  house  was  its 
massive  architecture,  of  the  style  introduced  from  Italy  by 
Marie  de'  Medici;  all  the  corner-stones  and  facings  were  cut 


44  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

with  diamond-shaped  bosses,  in  spite  of  the  difficulty  of  work- 
ing in  the  granite  of  which  it  is  built.  It  was  a  two-storied 
house  with  a  very  high-pitched  roof,  and  a  row  of  dormer 
windows,  each  with  its  carved  tympanum  standing  pictur- 
esquely enough  above  the  lead-lined  parapet  with  its  orna- 
mental balustrade.  A  grotesque  gargoyle,  the  head  of  some 
fantastic  bodyless  beast,  discharged  the  rain-water  through 
its  jaws  into  the  street  below,  where  great  stone  slabs,  pierced 
with  five  holes,  were  placed  to  receive  it.  Each  gable  termi- 
nated in  a  leaden  finial,  a  sign  that  this  was  a  burgher's  house, 
for  none  but  nobles  had  a  right  to  put  up  a  weathercock  in 
olden  times.  To  right  and  left  of  the  yard  stood  the  stables 
and  the  coach-house;  the  kitchen,  laundry,  and  wood-shed. 
One  of  the  leaves  of  the  great  gate  used  to  stand  open;  so 
that  passers-by,  looking  in  through  the  little  low  wicket  with 
the  bell  attached,  could  see  the  parterre  in  the  middle  of  a 
spacious  paved  court,  and  the  low-clipped  privet  hedges  which 
marked  out  miniature  borders  full  of  monthly  roses,  clove 
gilliflowers,  scabious,  and  lilies,  and  Spanish  broom;  as  well 
as  the  laurel  bushes  and  pomegranates  and  myrtles  which 
grew  in  tubs  put  out  of  doors  for  the  summer. 

The  scrupulous  neatness  and  tidiness  of  the  place  must 
have  struck  any  stranger,  and  furnished  him  with  a  clue  to 
the  old  maid's  character.  The  mistress'  eyes  must  have  been 
unemployed,  careful,  and  prying;  less,  perhaps,  from  any 
natural  bent,  than  for  want  of  any  occupation.  Who  but  an 
elderly  spinster,  at  a  loss  how  to  fill  an  always  empty  day, 
would  have  insisted  that  no  blade  of  grass  should  show  itself 
in  the  paved  courtyard,  that  the  wall-tops  should  be  scoured, 
that  the  broom  should  always  be  busy,  that  the  coach  should 
never  be  left  with  the  leather  curtains  undrawn  ?  Who  else, 
from  sheer  lack  of  other  employment,  could  have  introduced 
something  like  Dutch  cleanliness  into  a  little  province  be- 
tween Perche,  Normandy,  and  Brittany,  where  the  natives 
make  boast  of  their  .crass  indifference  to  comfort?  The  Che- 
valier never  climbed  the  steps  without  reflecting  inwardly  that 
the  house  was  fit  for  a  peer  of  France ;  and  du  Bousquier  simi- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  45 

larly  considered  that  the  Mayor  of  Alenc,on  ought  to  live  there. 

A  glass  door  at  the  top  of  the  flight  of  steps  gave  admit- 
tance to  an  ante-chamber  lighted  by  a  second  glass  door  oppo- 
site, above  a  corresponding  flight  of  steps  leading  into  tha 
garden.  This  part  of  the  house,  a  kind  of  gallery  floored  with 
square  red  tiles,  and  wainscoted  to  elbow-height,  was  a  hos- 
pital for  invalid  family  portraits ;  one  here  and  there  had  lost 
an  eye  or  sustained  injury  to  a  shoulder,  another  stood  with  a 
hole  in  the  place  where  his  hat  should  have  been,  yet  another 
had  lost  a  leg  by  amputation.  Here  cloaks,  clogs,  overshoes, 
and  umbrellas  were  left;  everybody  deposited  his  belongings 
in  the  ante-chamber  on  his  arrival,  and  took  them  again  at 
his  departure.  A  long  bench  was  set  against  either  wall  for 
the  servants  who  came  of  an  evening  with  their  lanterns  to 
fetch  home  their  masters  and  mistresses,  and  a  big  stove  was 
set  in  the  middle  to  mitigate  the  icy  blasts  which  swept  across 
from  door  to  door. 

This  gallery,  then,  divided  the  ground  floor  into  two  equal 
parts.  The  staircase  rose  to  the  left  on  the  side  nearest  the 
courtyard,  the  rest  of  the  space  being  taken  up  by  the  great 
dining-room,  with  its  windows  looking  out  upon  the  garden, 
and  a  pantry  beyond,  which  communicated  with  the  kitchen. 
To  the  right  lay  the  salon,  lighted  by  four  windows,  and  a 
couple  of  smaller  rooms  beyond  it,  a  boudoir  which  gave  upon 
the  garden,  and  a  room  which  did  duty  as  a  study  and  looked 
into  the  courtyard.  There  was  a  complete  suite  of  rooms  on 
the  first  floor,  beside  the  Abbe  de  Sponde's  apartments ;  while 
the  attic  story,  in  all  probability  roomy  enough,  had  long 
since  been  given  over  to  the  tenancy  of  rats  and  mice.  Mile. 
Cormon  used  to  report  their  nocturnal  exploits  to  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Valois,  and  marvel  at  the  futility  of  all  measures  taken 
against  them. 

The  garden,  about  half  an  acre  in  extent,  was  bounded  by 
the  Brillante,  so  called  from  the  mica  spangles  which  glitter 
in  its  bed;  not,  however,  in  the  Val-Noble,  for  the  manu- 
facturers and  dyers  of  Alengon  pour  all  their  refuse  into  the 
shallow  stream  before  it  reaches  this  point;  and  the  opposite 


46  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

bank,  as  always  happens  wherever  a  stream  passes  through  a 
town,  was  lined  with  houses  where  various  thirsty  industries 
were  carried  on.  Luckily,  Mile.  Cormon's  neighbors  were  all 
of  them  quiet  tradesmen — a  baker,  a  fuller,  and  one  or  two 
cabinet-makers.  Her  garden,  full  of  old-fashioned  flowers, 
naturally  ended  in  a  terrace,  by  way  of  a  quay,  with  a  short 
flight  of  steps  down  to  the  water's  edge.  Try  to  picture  the 
wall-flowers  growing  in  blue-and-white  glazed  jars  along  the 
balustrade  by  the  river,  behold  a  shady  walk  to  right  and  left 
beneath  the  square-clipped  lime-trees,  and  you  will  have  some 
idea  of  a  scene  full  of  unpretending  cheerfulness  and  sober 
tranquillity ;  you  can  see  the  views  of  homely  humble  life  along 
the  opposite  bank,  the  quaint  houses,  the  trickling  stream  of 
the  Brillante,  the  garden  itself,  the  linden  walks  under  the 
garden  walls,  and  the  venerable  home  built  by  the  Cormons. 
How  peaceful,  how  quiet  it  was  !  If  there  was  no  ostentation, 
there  was  nothing  transitory,  everything  seemed  to  last  for 
ever  there. 

The  ground-floor  rooms,  therefore,  were  given  over  to 
social  uses.  You  breathed  the  atmosphere  of  the  Province, 
ancient,  unalterable  Province.  The  great  square-shaped  salon, 
with  its  four  doors  and  four  windows,  was  modestly  wains- 
coted with  carved  panels,  and  painted  gray.  On  the  wall, 
above  the  single  oblong  mirror  on  the  chimney-piece,  the 
Hours,  in  monochrome,  were  ushering  in  the  day.  For  this 
particular  style  of  decoration,  which  used  to  infest  the  spaces 
above  doors,  the  artist's  invention  devised  the  eternal  Seasons 
which  meet  your  eyes  almost  anywhere  in  central  France,  till 
you  loathe  the  detestable  Cupids  engaged  in  reaping,  skating, 
sowing  seeds,  or  flinging  flowers  about.  Every  window  was 
overarched  with  a  sort  of  baldachin  with  green  damask  cur- 
tains drawn  back  with  cords  and  huge  tassels.  The  tapestry- 
covered  furniture,  with  a  darn  here  and  there  at  the  edges  of 
the  chairs,  belonged  distinctly  to  that  period  of  the  eighteenth 
century  when  curves  and  contortions  were  in  the  very  height 
of  fashion ;  the  frames  were  painted  and  varnished,  the  sub- 
jects in  the  medallions  on  the  backs  were  taken  from  La  Fon- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN      47 

taine.  Four  card-tables,  a  table  for  piquet,  and  another  for 
backgammon  filled  up  the  immense  space.  A  rock  crystal 
chandelier,  shrouded  in  green  gauze,  hung  suspended  from  the 
prominent  crossbeam  which  divided  the  ceiling,  the  only 
plastered  ceiling  in  the  house.  Two  branched  candle-sconces 
were  fixed  into  the  wall  above  the  chimney-piece,  where  a 
couple  of  blue  Sevres  vases  stood  on  either  side  of  a  copper 
gilt  clock  which  represented  a  scene  taken  from  Le  Deserteur 
— a  proof  of  the  prodigious  popularity  of  Sedaine's  work. 
It  was  a  group  of  no  less  than  eleven  figures,  four  inches 
high ;  the  Deserter  emerging  from  jail  escorted  by  a  guard  of 
soldiers,  while  a  young  person,  swooning  in  the  foreground, 
held  out  his  reprieve.  The  hearth  and  fire-irons  were  of  the 
same  date  and  style.  The  more  recent  family  portraits — 
one  or  two  Eigauds  and  three  pastels  by  Latour — adorned 
the  wainscot  panels. 

The  study,  paneled  entirely  in  old  lacquer  work,  red  and 
black  and  gold,  would  have  fetched  fabulous  sums  a  few  years 
later;  Mile.  Cormon  was  as  far  as  possible  from  suspecting 
its  value;  but  if  she  had  been  offered  a  thousand  crowns  for 
every  panel,  she  would  not  have  parted  with  a  single  one.  It 
was  a  part  of  her  system  to  alter  nothing,  and  everywhere 
in  the  provinces  the  belief  in  ancestral  hoards  is  very  strong. 
The  boudoir,  never  used,  was  hung  with  the  old-fashioned 
chintz  so  much  run  after  nowadays  by  amateurs  of  the 
"Pompadour  style,"  as  it  is  called. 

The  dining-room  was  paved  with  black-and-white  stone; 
it  had  not  been  ceiled,  but  the  joists  and  beams  were  painted. 
Eanged  round  the  walls,  beneath  a  flowered  trellis,  painted  in 
fresco,  stood  the  portentous,  marble-topped  sideboards,  in- 
dispensable in  the  warfare  waged  in  the  provinces  against  the 
powers  of  digestion.  The  chairs  were  cane-seated  and 
varnished,  the  doors  of  unpolished  walnut  wood.  Everything 
combined  admirably  to  complete  the  general  effect,  the  old- 
world  air  of  the  house  within  and  without.  The  provincial 
spirit  had  preserved  all  as  it  had  always  been;  nothing  was 
new  or  old,  young  or  decrepit.  You  felt  a  sense  of  chilly 
precision  everywhere. 
VOL.  7 — 26 


48  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Any  tourist  in  Brittany,  Normandy,  Maine,  or  Anjou  must 
have  seen  some  house  more  or  less  like  this  in  one.  or  other 
provincial  town;  for  the  Hotel  de  Cormon  was  in  its  way  a 
very  pattern  and  model  of  burgher  houses  over  a  large  part 
of  France,  and  the  better  deserves  a  place  in  this  chronicle 
because  it  is  at  once  a  commentary  on  the  manners  of  the 
place  and  the  expression  of  its  ideas.  Who  does  not  feel, 
even  now,  how  much  the  life  within  the  old  walls  was  one  of 
peaceful  routine? 

For  such  library  as  the  house  possessed  you  must  have  de- 
scended rather  below  the  level  of  the  Brillante.  There  stood 
a  solidly  clasped  oak-bound  collection,  none  the  worse,  nay, 
rather  the  better,  for  a  thick  coating  of  dust;  a  collection 
kept  as  carefully  as  a  cider-growing  district  is  wont  to  keep 
the  products  of  the  presses  of  Burgundy,  Touraine,  Gascony, 
and  the  South.  Here  were  works  full  of  native  force,  and 
exquisite  qualities,  with  an  added  perfume  of  antiquity.  No 
one  will  import  poor  wines  when  the  cost  of  carriage  is  so 
heavy. 

Mile.  Cormon's  whole  circle  consisted  of  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  persons.  Of  these,  some  went  into  the  country,  some 
were  ill,  others  from  home  on  business  in  the  department,  but 
there  was  a  faithful  band  which  always  came,  unless  Mile. 
Cormon  gave  an  evening  party  in  form;  so  also  did  those 
persons  who  were  bound  either  by  their  duties  or  old  habit  to 
live  in  Alengon  itself.  All  these  people  were  of  ripe  age.  A 
few  among  them  had  traveled,  but  scarcely  any  of  them  had 
gone  beyond  the  province,  and  one  or  two  had  been  implicated 
in  Chouannerie.  People  could  begin  to  speak  freely  of  the 
war,  now  that  rewards  had  come  to  the  heroic  defenders  of 
the  good  cause.  M.  de  Valois  had  been  concerned  in  the  last 
rising,  when  the  Marquis  de  Montauran  lost  his  life,  be- 
trayed by  his  mistress;  and  Marche-a-Terre,  now  peacefully 
driving  a  grazier's  trade  by  the  banks  of  the  Mayenne,  had 
made  a  famous  name  for  himself.  M.  de  Valois,  during  the 
past  six  months,  had  supplied  the  key  to  several  shrewd  tricks 
played  off  upon  Hulot,  the  old  Eepublican,  commander  of  a 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  49 

demi-brigade   stationed   at   Alengon   from    1798    till    1800. 
There  was  talk  of  Hulot  yet  in  the  countryside.* 

The  women  made  little  pretence  of  dress,  except  on  Wed- 
nesdays when  Mile.  Cormon  gave  a  dinner  party,  and  last 
week's  guests  came  to  pay  their  "visit  of  digestion."  On 
Wednesday  evening  the  rooms  were  filled.  Guests  and  visitors 
came  in  gala  dress;  here  and  there  a  woman  brought 
her  knitting  or  her  tapestry  work,  and  some  young  ladies  un- 
blushingly  drew  patterns  for  point  d'Alengon,  by  which  they 
supported  themselves.  Men  brought  their  wives,  because 
there  was  so  few  young  fellows  there ;  no  whisper  could  pass 
unnoticed,  and  therefore  there  was  no  danger  of  love-making 
for  maid  or  matron.  Every  evening  at  six  o'clock  the  lobby 
was  filled  with  articles  of  dress,  with  sticks,  cloaks,  and  lan- 
terns. Every  one  was  so  well  acquainted,  the  customs  of  the 
house  were  so  primitive,  that  if  by  any  chance  the  Abbe  de 
Sponde  was  in  the  lime-tree  walk,  and  Mile.  Cormon  in  her 
room,  neither  Josette  the  maid  nor  Jacquelin  the  man  thought 
it  necessary  to  inform  them  of  the  arrival  of  visitors.  The 
first  comer  waited  till  some  one  else  arrived;  and  when  they 
mustered  players  sufficiently  for  whist  or  boston,  the  game  was 
begun  without  waiting  for  the  Abbe  de  Sponde  or  Made- 
moiselle. When  it  grew  dark,  Josette  or  Jacquelin  brought 
lights  as  soon  as  the  bell  rang,  and  the  old  Abbe  out  in  the 
garden,  seeing  the  drawing-room  windows  illuminated, 
hastened  slowly  towards  the  house.  Every  evening  the  piquet, 
boston,  and  whist  tables  were  full,  giving  an  average  of 
twenty-five  or  thirty  persons,  including  those  who  came  to 
chat;  but  often  there  were  as  many  as  thirty  or  forty,  and 
then  Jacquelin  took  candles  into  the  study  and  the  boudoir. 
Between  eight  and  nine  at  night  the  servants  began  to  fill  the 
ante-chamber;  and  nothing  short  of  a  revolution  would  have 
found  any  one  in  the  salon  by  ten  o'clock.  At  that  hour  the 
frequenters  of  the  house  were  walking  home  through  the 
streets,  discussing  the  points  made,  or  keeping  up  a  conversa- 
tion begun  in  the  salon.  Sometimes  the  talk  turned  on  a 

*  See  Les  Chouans. 


50  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

pocket-handkerchief  of  land  on  which  somebody  had  an  eye, 
sometimes  it  was  the  division  of  an  inheritance  and  disputes 
among  the  legatees,  or  the  pretensions  of  the  aristocratic  set. 
You  see  exactly  the  same  thing  at  Paris  when  the  theatres 
disgorge. 

Some  people  who  talk  a  great  deal  about  poetry  and  un- 
derstand nothing  about  it,  are  wont  to  rail  at  provincial 
towns  and  provincial  ways;  but  lean  your  forehead  on  your 
left  hand,  as  you  sit  with  your  feet  on  the  fire-dogs,  and  rest 
your  elbow  on  your  knee,  and  then — if  you  have  fully  realized 
for  yourself  the  level  pleasant  landscape,  the  house,  the  in- 
terior, the  folks  within  it  and  their  interests,  interests  that 
seem  all  the  larger  because  the  mental  horizon  is  so  limited 
(as  a  grain  of  gold  is  beaten  thin  between  two  sheets  of 
parchment) — then  ask  yourself  what  human  life  is.  Try  to 
decide  between  the  engraver  of  the  hieroglyphic  birds  on  an 
Egyptian  obelisk,  and  one  of  these  folk  in  Alengon  playing 
boston  through  a  score  of  years  with  du  Bousquier,  M.  de 
Valois,  Mile.  Cormon,  the  President  of  the  Tribunal,  the 
Public  Prosecutor,  the  Abbe  de  Sponde,  Mme.  Granson  e 
iuHi  quanti.  If  the  daily  round,  the  daily  pacing  of  the 
same  track  in  the  footsteps  of  many  yesterdays,  is  not  ex- 
actly happiness,  it  is  so  much  like  it  that  others,  driven  by 
dint  of  storm-tossed  days  to  reflect  on  the  blessings  of  calm, 
will  say  that  it  is  happiness  indeed. 

To  give  the  exact  measure  of  the  importance  of  Mile.  Cor- 
mon's  salon,  it  will  suffice  to  add  that  du  Bousquier,  a  born 
statistician,  computed  that  its  frequenters  mustered  among 
them  a  hundred  and  thirty-one  votes  in  the  electoral  college, 
and  eighteen  hundred  thousand  livres  of  income  derived  from 
lands  in  the  province.  The  town  of  Alengon  was  not,  it  is 
true,  completely  represented  there.  The  aristocratic  section, 
for  instance,  had  a  salon  of  their  own,  and  the  receiver- 
general's  house  was  a  sort  of  official  inn  kept,  as  in  duty 
bound,  by  the  Government,  where  everybody  who  was  anybody 
danced,  flirted,  fluttered,  fell  in  love,  and  supped.  One  or  two 
unclassified  persons  kept  up  the  communications  between 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  51 

Mile.  Cormon's  salon  and  the  other  two,  but  the  Cormon  salon 
criticised  all  that  passed  in  the  opposed  camps  very  severely. 
Sumptuous  dinners  gave  rise  to  Unfavorable  comment;  ices 
at  a  dance  caused  searchings  of  heart;  the  women's  behavior 
and  dress  and  any  innovations  were  much  discussed. 

Mile.  Cormon  being,  as  it  were,  the  style  of  the  firm,  and 
figure-head  of  an  imposing  coterie,  was  inevitably  the  object 
of  any  ambition  as  profound  as  that  of  the  du  Bousquier  or 
the  Chevalier  de  Valois.  To  both  gentlemen  she  meant  a 
seat  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  with  a  peerage  for  the 
Chevalier,  a  receiver-general's  post  for  du  Bousquier.  A 
salon  admittedly  of  the  first  rank  is  every  whit  as  hard  to 
build  up  in  a  country  town  as  in  Paris.  And  here  was  the 
salon  ready  made.  To  marry  Mile.  Cormon  was  to  be  lord  of 
Alengon.  Finally,  Athanase,  the  only  one  of  the  three  suitors 
that  had  ceased  to  calculate,  cared  as  much  for  the  woman  as 
for  her  money. 

Is  there  not  a  whole  strange  drama  (to  use  the  modern 
cant  phrase)  in  the  relative  positions  of  these  four  human 
beings?  There  is  something  grotesque,  is  there  not,  in  the 
idea  of  three  rival  suitors  eagerly  pressing  about  an  old  maid 
who  never  so  much  as  suspected  their  intentions,  in 
spite  of  her  intense  and  very  natural  desire  to  be 
married?  Yet  although,  things  being  so,  it  may 
seem  an  extraordinary  thing  that  she  should  not  have 
married  before,  it  is  not  difficult  to  explain  how  and 
why,  in  spite  of  her  fortune  and  her  three  suitors,  Mile. 
Cormon  was  still  unwed. 

From  the  first,  following  the  family  tradition,  Mile.  Cor- 
mon had  always  wished  to  marry  a  noble,  but  between  the 
years  1789  and  1799  circumstances  were  very  much  against 
her.  While  she  would  have  wished  to  be  the  wife  of  a  person 
of  condition,  she  was  horribly  afraid  of  the  Revolutionary 
Tribunal ;  and  these  two  motives  weighing  about  equally,  she 
remained  stationary,  according  to  a  law  which  holds  equally 
good  in  a-sthetics  or  statics.  At  the  same  time,  the  condition 
of  suspended  judgment  is  not  unpleasant  for  a  girl,  so  long 


52  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

as  she  feels  young  and  thinks  that  she  can  choose  where  she 
pleases.  But,  as  all  France  knows,  the  system  of  government 
immediately  preceding  the  w%rs  of  Napoleon  produced  a  vast 
number  of  widows;  and  the  number  of  heiresses  was  al- 
together out  of  proportion  to  the  number  of  eligible  men. 
When  order  was  restored  in  the  country,  in  the  time  of  the 
Consulate,  external  difficulties  made  marriage  as  much  of  a 
problem  as  ever  for  Eose  Marie  Victoire.  On  the  one  hand, 
she  declined  to  marry  an  elderly  man ;  and,  on  the  other,  dread 
of  ridicule  and  circumstances  put  quite  young  men  out  of  the 
question.  In  those  days  heads  of  families  married  their  sons 
as  mere  boys,  because  in  this  way  they  escaped  the  conscrip- 
tion. With  the  obstinacy  of  a  landed  proprietor,  made- 
moiselle would  not  hear  of  marrying  a  military  man;  she 
had  no  wish  to  take  a  husband  only  to  give  him  back  to  the 
Emperor,  she  wished  to  keep  him  for  herself.  And  so,  be- 
tween 1804  and  1815  it  was  impossible  to  compete  with  a 
younger  generation  of  girls,  too  numerous  already  in  times 
when  cannon  shot  had  thinned  the  ranks  of  marriageable 
men. 

Again,  apart  from  Mile.  Cormon's  predilection  for  birth, 
she  had  a  very  pardonable  craze  for  being  loved  for  her  own 
sake.  You  would  scarcely  believe  the  lengths  to  which  she 
carried  this  fancy.  She  set  her  wits  to  work  to  lay  snares  for 
her  admirers,  to  try  their  sentiments ;  and  that  with  such  suc- 
cess, that  the  unfortunates  one  and  all  fell  into  them,  and 
succumbed  in  the  whimsical  ordeals  through  which  they 
passed  at  unawares.  Mile.  Cormon  did  not  study  her  suitors, 
she  played  the  spy  upon  them.  A  careless  word,  or  a  joke, 
and  the  lady  did  not  understand  jokes  very  well,  was  excuse 
enough  to  dismiss  an  aspirant  as  found  wanting.  This  had 
neither  spirit  nor  delicacy;  that  was  untruthful  and  not  a 
Christian ;  one  wanted  to  cut  down  tall  timber  and  coin  money 
under  the  marriage  canopy ;  another  was  not  the  man  to  make 
her  happy;  or,  again,  she  had  her  suspicions  of  gout  in  the 
family,  or  took  fright  at  her  wooer's  antecedents.  Like 
Mother  Church,  she  would  fain  see  a  priest  without  blemish 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  53 

at  her  altar.  And  then  Rose  Marie  Victoire  made  the  worst 
of  herself,  and  was  as  anxious  to  be  loved,  with  all  her  facti- 
tious plainness  and  imaginary  faults,  as  other  women  are  to 
be  married  for  virtues  which  they  have  not  and  for  borrowed 
beauty.  Mile.  Cormon's  ambition  had  its  source  in  the  finest 
instincts  of  womanhood.  She  would  reward  her  lover  by 
discovering  to  him  a  thousand  virtues  after  marriage,  as 
other  women  reveal  the  many  little  faults  kept  hitherto  strenu- 
ously out  of  sight.  But  no  one  understood.  The  noble  girl 
came  in  contact  with  none  but  commonplace  natures,  with 
whom  practical  interests  came  first;  the  finer  calculations  of 
feeling  were  beyond  their  comprehension. 

She  grew  more  and  more  conspicuous  as  the  critical  period 
so  ingeniously  called  "second  youth"  drew  nearer.  Her  fancy 
for  making  the  worst  of  herself  with  increasing  success 
frightened  away  the  latest  recruits;  they  hesitated  to  unite 
their  lot  with  hers.  The  strategy  of  her  game  of  hoodman- 
blind  (the  virtues  to  be  revealed  when  the  finder's  eyes  were 
opened)  was  a  complex  study  for  which  few  men  have  in- 
clination ;  they  prefer  perfection  ready-made.  An  ever-pres- 
ent dread  of  being  married  for  her  money  made  her  unrea- 
sonably distrustful  and  uneasy.  She  fell  foul  of  the  rich, 
and  the  rich  could  look  higher;  she  was  afraid  of  poor  men, 
she  would  not  believe  them  capable  of  that  disinterestedness 
on  which  she  set  such  store ;  till  at  length  her  rejections  and 
other  circumstances  let  in  an  unexpected  light  upon  the  minds 
of  suitors  thus  presented  for  her  selection  like  dried  peas  on 
a  seedman's  sieve.  Every  time  a  marriage  project  came  to 
nothing,  the  unfortunate  girl,  being  gradually  led  to  despise 
mankind,  saw  the  other  sex  at  last  in  a  false  light.  In- 
evitably, in  her  inmost  soul,  she  grew  misanthropic,  a  tinge 
of  bitterness  was  infused  into  her  conversation,  a  certain 
harshness  into  her  expression.  And  her  manners  became 
more  and  more  rigid  under  the  stress  of  enforced  celibacy; 
in  her  despair  she  sought  to  perfect  herself.  It  was  a  noble 
vengeance.  She  would  polish  and  cut  for  God  the  rough 
diamond  rejected  by  men. 


54  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Before  long  public  opinion  was  against  Mile.  Cormon. 
People  accept  the  verdict  which  a  woman  passes  upon  herself 
if,  being  free  to  marry,  she  fails  to  fulfil  expectations,  or  is 
known  to  have  refused  eligible  suitors.  Every  one  decides 
that  she  has  her  own  reasons  for  declining  marriage,  and 
those  reasons  are  always  misinterpreted.  There  was  some 
hidden  physical  defect  or  deformity,  they  said ;  but  she,  poor 
girl,  was  pure  as  an  angel,  healthy  as  a  child,  and  overflow- 
ing with  kindness.  Nature  had  meant  her  to  know  all  the 
joys,  all  the  happiness,  all  the  burdens  of  motherhood. 

Yet  in  her  person  Mile.  Cormon  did  not  find  a  natural 
auxiliary  to  gain  her  heart's  desire.  She  had  no  beauty,  save 
of  the  kind  so  improperly  called  "the  devil's";  that  full- 
blown freshness  of  youth  which,  theologically  speaking,  the 
Devil  never  could  have  possessed;  unless,  indeed,  we  are  to 
look  for  an  explanation  of  the  expression  in  the  Devil's  con- 
tinual desire  of  refreshing  himself.  The  heiress'  feet  were 
large  and  flat ;  when,  on  rainy  days,  she  crossed  the  wet  streets 
between  her  house  and  St.  Leonard's,  her  raised  skirt  dis- 
played (without  malice,  be  it  said)  a  leg  which  scarcely 
seemed  to  belong  to  a  woman,  so  muscular  was  it,  with  a 
small,  firm,  prominent  calf  like  a  sailor's.  She  had  a  figure 
for  a  wet  nurse.  Her  thick,  honest  waist,  her  strong,  plump 
arms,  her  red  hands;  everything  about  her,  in  short,  was  in 
keeping  with  the  round,  expansive  contours  and  portly  fair- 
ness of  the  Norman  style  of  beauty.  Wide  open,  prominent 
eyes  of  no  particular  color  gave  to  a  face,  by  no  means  dis- 
tinguished in  its  round  outlines,  a  sheepish,  astonished  ex- 
pression not  altogether  inappropriate,  however,  in  an  old 
maid :  even  if  Rose  had  not  been  innocent,  she  must  still  have 
seemed  so.  An  aquiline  nose  was  oddly  assorted  with  a  low 
forehead,  for  a  feature  of  that  type  is  almost  invariably  found 
in  company  with  a  lofty  brow.  In  spite  of  thick,  red  lips, 
the  sign  of  great  kindliness  of  nature,  there  were  evidently 
so  few  ideas  behind  that  forehead,  that  Rose's  heart  could 
scarcely  have  been  directed  by  her  brain.  Kind  she  must 
certainly  be,  but  not  gracious.  And  we  are  apt  to  judge  the 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  55 

defects  of  goodness  very  harshly,  while  we  make  the  most  of 
the  redeeming  qualities  of  vice. 

An  extraordinary  length  of  chestnut  hair  lent  Rose  Cormon 
such  beauty  as  belongs  to  vigor  and  luxuriance,  her  chief  per- 
sonal characteristics.  In  the  time  of  her  pretensions  she  had 
a  trick  of  turning  her  face  in  three-quarters  profile  to  display 
a  very  pretty  ear,  gracefully  set  between  the  azure-streaked 
white  throat  and  the  temple,  and  thrown  into  relief  by  thick 
masses  of  her  hair.  Dressed  in  a  ball  gown,  with  her  head 
poised  at  this  angle,  Eose  might  almost  seem  beautiful.  With 
her  protuberant  bust,  her  waist,  her  high  health,  she  used  to 
draw  exclamations  of  admiration  from  Imperial  officers. 
"What  a  fine  girl  I"  they  used  to  say. 

But,  as  years  went  on,  the  stoutness  induced  by  a  quiet, 
regular  life  distributed  itself  so  unfortunately  over  her  person, 
that  its  original  proportions  were  destroyed.  No  known 
variety  of  corset  could  have  discovered  the  poor  spinster's 
hips  at  this  period  of  her  existence ;  she  might  have  been  cast 
in  one  uniform  piece.  The  youthful  proportions  of  her  figure 
were  completely  lost ;  her  dimensions  had  grown  so  excessive, 
that  no  one  could  see  her  stoop  without  fearing  that,  being 
so  topheavy,  she  would  certainly  overbalance  herself;  but 
nature  had  provided  a  sufficient  natural  counterpoise,  which 
enabled  her  to  dispense  with  all  adventitious  aid  from  "dress 
improvers."  Everything  about  Rose  was  very  genuine. 

Her  chin  developed  a  triple  fold,  which  reduced  the  appar- 
ent length  of  her  throat,  and  made  it  no  easy  matter  to  turn 
her  head.  She  had  no  wrinkles,  she  had  creases.  Wags  used 
to  assert  that  she  powdered  herself,  as  nurses  powder  babies, 
to  prevent  chafing  of  the  skin.  To  a  young  man,  consumed, 
like  Athanase,  with  suppressed  desires,  this  excessive  corpu- 
lence offered  just  the  kind  of  physical  charm  which  could  not 
fail  to  attract  youth.  Youthful  imaginations,  essentially  in- 
trepid, stimulated  by  appetite,  are  prone  to  dilate  upon  the 
beauties  of  that  living  expanse.  So  does  the  plump  partridge 
allure  the  epicure's  knife.  And,  indeed,  any  debt-burdened 
young  man  of  fashion  in  Paris  would  have  resigned  himself 


56  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

readily  enough  to  fulfilling  his  part  of  the  contract  and  mak- 
ing Mile.  Cormon  happy.  Still  the  unfortunate  spinster  had 
already  passed  her  fortieth  year! 

At  this  period  of  enforced  loneliness,  after  the  long,  vain 
struggle  to  fill  her  life  with  those  interests  that  are  all  in 
all  to  woman,  she  was  fortifying  herself  in  virtue  by  the  most 
strict  observance  of  religious  duties:  she  had  turned  to  the 
great  consolation  of  well-preserved  virginity.  A  confessor, 
endowed  with  no  great  wisdom,  had  directed  Mile.  Cormon  in 
the  paths  of  asceticism  for  some  three  years  past,  recommend- 
ing a  system  of  self-scourging  calculated,  according  to  modern 
doctors,  to  produce  an  effect  the  exact  opposite  of  that  ex- 
pected by  the  poor  priest,  whose  knowledge  of  hygiene  was 
but  limited.  These  absurd  practices  were  beginning  to  bring 
a  certain  monastic  tinge  to  Eose  Cormon's  face;  with  fre- 
quent pangs  of  despair,  she  watched  the  sallow  hues  of  middle 
age  creeping  across  its  natural  white  and  red ;  while  the  trace 
of  down  about  the  corners  of  her  upper  lip  showed  a  distinct 
tendency  to  darken  and  increase  like  smoke.  Her  temples 
grew  shiny.  She  had  passed  the  turning-point,  in  fact.  It 
was  known  for  certain  in  Alengon  that  Mile.  Cormon  suffered 
from  heated  blood.  She  inflicted  her  confidence  upon  the 
Chevalier  de  Valois,  reckoning  up  the  number  of  foot-baths 
that  she  took,  and  devising  cooling  treatment  with  him.  And 
that  shrewd  observer  would  end  by  taking  out  his  snuff-box, 
and  gazing  at  the  portrait  of  the  Princess  Goritza  as  he  re- 
marked, "But  the  real  sedative,  my  dear  young  lady,  would 
be  a  good  and  handsome  husband." 

"But  whom  could  one  trust?"  returned  she. 

But  the  Chevalier  only  flicked  away  the  powdered  snuff 
from  the  creases  of  his  paduasoy  waistcoat.  To  anybody  else 
the  proceeding  would  have  seemed  perfectly  natural,  but  it 
always  made  the  poor  old  maid  feel  uncomfortable. 

The  violence  of  her  objectless  longings  grew  to  such  a  height 
that  she  shrank  from  looking  a  man  in  the  face,  so  afraid  was 
she  that  the  thoughts  which  pierced  her  heart  might  be  read 
in  her  eyes.  It  was  one  of  her  whims,  possibly  a  later  de- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  57 

velopment  of  her  former  tactics,  to  behave  almost  ungra- 
ciously to  the  possible  suitors  towards  whom  she  still  felt  her- 
self attracted,  so  afraid  was  she  of  being  accused  of  folly. 
Most  people  in  her  circle  were  utterly  incapable  of  appreciat- 
ing her  motives,  so  noble  throughout ;  they  explained  her  man- 
ner to  her  coevals  in  single  blessedness  by  a  theory  of  revenge 
for  some  past  slight. 

With  the  beginning  of  the  year  1815  Eose  Cormon  had 
reached  the  fatal  age,  to  which  she  did  not  confess.  She  was 
forty-two.  By  this  time  her  desire  to  be  married  had 
reached  a  degree  of  intensity  bordering  on  monomania.  She 
saw  her  chances  of  motherhood  fast  slipping  away  for  ever; 
and,  in  her  divine  ignorance,  she  longed  above  all  things  for 
children  of  her  own.  There  was  not  a  soul  found  in  Alengon 
to  impute  a  single  unchaste  desire  to  the  virtuous  girl.  She 
loved  love,  taking  all  for  granted,  without  realizing  for  her- 
self what  love  would  be — a  devout  Agnes,  incapable  of  in- 
venting one  of  the  little  shifts  of  Moliere's  heroine. 

She  had  been  counting  upon  chance  of  late.  The  disband- 
ing of  the  Imperial  troops  and  the  reconstruction  of  the 
King's  army  was  sending  a  tide  of  military  men  back  to  their 
native  places,  some  of  them  on  half-pay,  some  with  pensions, 
some  without,  and  all  of  them  anxious  to  find  some  way  of 
amending  their  bad  fortune,  and  of  finishing  their  days  in  a 
fashion  which  would  mean  the  beginning  of  happiness 
for  Mile.  Cormon.  It  would  be  hard  indeed  if  she  could 
not  find  a  single  brave  and  honorable  man  among  all  those 
who  were  coming  back  to  the  neighborhood.  He  must  have  a 
sound  constitution  in  the  first  place,  he  must  be  of  suitable 
age,  and  a  man  whose  personal  character  would  serve  as  a 
passport  to  his  Bonapartist  opinions ;  perhaps  he  might  even 
be  willing  to  turn  Royalist  for  the  sake  of  gaining  a  lost 
social  position. 

Supported  by  these  mental  calculations,  Mile.  Cormon 
maintained  the  severity  of  her  attitude  for  the  first  few 
months  of  the  year;  but  the  men  that  came  back  to  the  town 
were  all  either  too  old  or  too  young,  or  their  characters  were 


58  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

too  bad,  or  their  opinions  too  Bonapartist,  or  their  station  in 
life  was  incompatible  with  her  position,  fortune,  and  habits. 
The  case  grew  more  and  more  desperate  every  day.  Officers 
high  in  the  service  had  used  their  advantages  under  Napoleon 
to  marry,  and  these  gentlemen  now  became  Eoyalists  for  the 
sake  of  their  families.  In  vain  had  she  put  up  prayers  to 
heaven  to  send  her  a  husband  that  she  might  be  happy  in 
Christian  fashion;  it  was  written,  no  doubt,  that  she  should 
die  virgin  and  martyr,  for  not  a  single  likely-looking  man 
presented  himself. 

In  the  course  of  conversation  in  her  drawing-room  of  an 
evening,  the  frequenters  of  the  house  kept  the  police  register 
under  tolerably  strict  supervision;  no  one  could  arrive  in 
Alengon  but  they  informed  themselves  at  once  as  to  the  new- 
comer's mode  of  life,  quality,  and  fortune.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  Alengon  is  not  a  town  to  attract  many  strangers;  it  is 
not  on  the  highroad  to  any  larger  city;  there  are  no  chance 
arrivals ;  naval  officers  on  their  way  to  Brest  do  not  so  much 
as  stop  in  the  place. 

Poor  Mile.  Cormon  at  last  comprehended  that  her  choice 
was  reduced  to  the  natives.  At  times  her  eyes  took  an  almost 
fierce  expression,  to  which  the  Chevalier  would  respond  with  a 
keen  glance  at  her  as  he  drew  out  his  snuff-box  to  gaze  at  the 
Princess  Goritza.  M.  de  Valois  knew  that  in  feminine 
jurisprudence,  fidelity  to  an  old  love  is  a  guarantee  for  the 
new.  But  Mile.  Cormon,  it  cannot  be  denied,  was  not  very 
intelligent.  His  snuff-box  strategy  was  wasted  upon  her. 

She  redoubled  her  watchfulness,  the  better  to  combat  the 
"evil  one,"  and  with  devout  rigidness  and  the  sternest  prin- 
ciples she  consigned  her  cruel  sufferings  to  the  secret  places 
of  her  life. 

At  night,  when  she  was  alone,  she  thought  of  her  lost  youth, 
of  her  faded  bloom,  of  the  thwarted  instincts  of  her  nature ; 
and  while  she  laid  her  passionate  longings  at  the  foot  of  the 
Cross,  together  with  all  the  poetry  doomed  to  remain  pent 
within  her,  she  vowed  inwardly  to  take  the  first  man  that  was 
willing  to  marry  her,  just  as  he  was,  without  putting  him  to 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  59 

any  proof  whatsoever.  Sounding  her  own  dispositions,  after 
a  series  of  vigils,  each  more  trying  than  the  last,  in  her  own 
mind  she  went  so  far  as  to  espouse  a  sub-lieutenant, 
a  tobacco-smoker  to  boot ;  nay,  he  was  even  head  over  ears  in 
debt.  Him  she  proposed  to  transform  with  care,  submission, 
and  gentleness  into  a  pattern  for  mankind.  But  only  in 
the  silence  of  night  could  she  plan  these  imaginary  marriages, 
in  which  she  amused  herself  with  playing  the  sublime  part  of 
guardian  angel ;  with  morning,  if  Josette  found  her  mistress' 
bedclothes  turned  topsy-turvy,  mademoiselle  had  recovered 
her  dignity;  with  morning,  after  breakfast,  she  would  have 
nothing  less  than  a  solid  landowner,  a  well-preserved  man  of 
forty — a  young  man,  as  you  may  say. 

The  Abbe  de  Sponde  was  incapable  of  giving  his  niece  as- 
sistance of  any  sort  in  schemes  for  marriage.  The  good  man, 
aged  seventy  or  thereabouts,  referred  all  the  calamities  of  the 
Eevolution  to  the  design  of  a  Providence  prompt  to  punish 
a  dissolute  Church.  For  which  reasons  M.  de  Sponde  had  long 
since  entered  upon  a  deserted  path  to  heaven,  the  way  trodden 
by  the  hermits  of  old.  He  led  an  ascetic  life,  simply,  unobtru- 
sively, hiding  his  deeds  of  charity,  his  constant  prayer  and 
fasting  from  all  other  eyes.  Necessity  was  laid  upon  all 
priests,  he  thought,  to  do  as  he  did;  he  preached  by  ex- 
ample, turning  a  serene  and  smiling  face  upon  the  world, 
while  he  completely  cut  himself  off  from  worldly  interests. 
All  his  thoughts  were  given  to  the  afflicted,  to  the  needs  of 
the  Church,  and  the  saving  of  his  own  soul.  He  left  the 
management  of  his  property  to  his  niece.  She  paid  over  his 
yearly  income  to  him,  and,  after  a  slight  deduction  for  his 
maintenance,  the  whole  of  it  went  in  private  almsgiving  or  in 
donations  to  the  Church. 

All  the  Abbe's  affections  were  centered  upon  his  niece,  and 
she  looked  upon  him  as  a  father.  He  was  a  somewhat  absent- 
minded  father,  however,  without  the  remotest  conception  of 
the  rebellion  of  the  flesh;  a  father  who  gave  thanks  to  (rod 
for  maintaining  his  beloved  daughter  in  a  state  of  virginity; 
for  from  his  youth  up  he  had  held,  with  St.  John  Chrysostom, 


60  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"that  virginity  is  as  much  above  the  estate  of  marriage  as  the 
angels  are  above  man." 

Mile.  Cormon  was  accustomed  to  look  up  to  her  uncle; 
she  did  not  venture  to  confide  her  wishes  for  a  change  of 
condition  to  him;  and  he,  good  man,  on  his  side  was  ac- 
customed to  the  ways  of  the  house,  and  perhaps  might  not 
have  relished  the  introduction  of  a  master  into  it.  Absorbed 
in  thoughts  of  the  distress  which  he  relieved,  or  lost  in  fathom- 
less inner  depths  of  prayer,  he  was  often  unconscious  of  what 
was  going  on  about  him;  frequenters  of  the  house  set  this 
down  to  absent-mindedness;  but  while  he  said  little,  his 
silence  was  neither  unsociable  nor  ungenial.  A  tall,  spare, 
grave,  and  solemn  man,  his  face  told  of  kindly  feeling  and  a 
great  inward  peace.  His  presence  in  the  house  seemed  as  it 
were  to  consecrate  it.  The  Abbe  entertained  a  strong  liking 
for  that  elderly  sceptic  the  Chevalier  de  Valois.  Far  apart  as 
their  lives  were,  the  two  grand  wrecks  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury clergy  and  noblesse  recognized  each  other  by  generic 
signs  and  tokens;  and  the  Chevalier,  for  that  matter,  could 
converse  with  unction  with  the  Abbe,  just  as  he  talked  like  a 
father  with  his  grisettes. 

Some  may  think  that  Mile.  Cormon  would  leave  no  means 
untried  to  gain  her  end;  that  among  other  permissible  femi- 
nine artifices,  for  instance,  she  would  turn  to  her  toilettes, 
wear  low-cut  bodices,  use  the  passive  coquetry  of  a  display  of 
the  splendid  equipment  with  which  she  might  take  the  field. 
On  the  contrary,  she  was  as  heroic  and  steadfast  in  her  high- 
necked  gown  as  a  sentry  in  his  sentry-box.  All  her  dresses, 
bonnets,  and  finery  were  made  in  Alengon  by  two  hunchbacked 
sisters,  not  wanting  in  taste.  But  in  spite  of  the  entreaties 
of  the  two  artists,  Mile.  Cormon  utterly  declined  the  ad- 
ventitious aid  of  elegance;  she  must  be  substantial  through- 
out, body  and  plumage,  and  possibly  her  heavy-looking  dresses 
became  her  not  amiss.  Laugh  who  will  at  her,  poor  thing. 
Generous  natures,  those  who  never  trouble  themselves  about 
the  form  in  which  good  feeling  shows  itself,  but  admire  it 
wherever  they  find  it,  will  see  something  sublime  in  this  trait. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  61 

Perhaps  some  slight-natured  feminine  critic  may  begin  to 
carp,  and  say  that  there  is  no  woman  in  France  so  simple 
but  that  she  can  angle  for  a  husband ;  that  Mile.  Cormon  is 
one  of  those  abnormal  creatures  which  common-sense  for- 
bids us  to  take  for  a  type;  that  the  best  or  the  most  babyish 
unmarried  woman  that  has  a  mind  to  hook  a  gudgeon 
can  put  forward  some  physical  charm  wherewith  to  bait  her 
line.  But  when  you  begin  to  think  that  the  sublime  Apostolic 
Eoman  Catholic  is  still  a  power  in  Brittany  and  the  ancient 
duchy  of  Alengon,  these  criticisms  fall  to  the  ground.  Faith 
and  piety  admit  no  such  subtleties.  Mile.  Cormon  kept  to  the 
straight  path,  preferring  the  misfortunes  of  a  maidenhood  in- 
finitely prolonged  to  the  misery  of  untruthfulness,  to  the  sin 
of  small  deceit.  Armed  with  self-discipline,  such  a  girl  can- 
not make  a  sacrifice  of  a  principle;  and  therefore  love  (or 
self-interest)  must  make  a  determined  effort  to  find  her  out 
and  win  her. 

Let  us  have  the  courage  to  make  a  confession,  painful  in 
these  days  when  religion  is  nothing  but  a  means  of  advance- 
ment for  some,  a  dream  for  others ;  the  devout  are  subject  to 
a  kind  of  moral  ophthalmia,  which,  by  the  especial  grace  of 
Providence,  removes  a  host  of  small  earthly  concerns  out  of 
the  sight  of  the  pilgrim  of  Eternity.  In  a  word,  the  devout 
are  apt  to  be  dense  in  a  good  many  ways.  Their  stupidity,  at 
the  same  time,  is  a  measure  of  the  force  with  which  their 
spirits  turn  heavenwards;  albeit  the  sceptical  M.  de  Valois 
maintained  that  it  is  a  moot  point  whether  stupid  women  take 
naturally  to  piety,  or  whether  piety,  on  the  other  hand,  has  a 
stupefying  effect  upon  an  intelligent  girl. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  it  is  the  purest  orthodox 
goodness,  ready  to  drink  rapturously  of  every  cup  set  before  it, 
to  submit  devoutly  to  the  will  of  God,  to  see  the  print  of 
the  divine  finger  everywhere  in  the  day  of  life, — that  it  is 
catholic  virtue  stealing  like  hidden  light  into  the  innermost 
recesses  of  this  History  that  alone  can  bring  everything  into 
right  relief,  and  widen  its  significance  for  those  who  yet  have 
faith.  And,  again,  if  the  stupidity  is  admitted,  why  should 


62  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

the  misfortunes  of  stupidity  be  less  interesting  than  the  woes 
of  genius  in  a  world  where  fools  so  overwhelmingly  pre- 
ponderate ? 

To  resume.  Mile.  Cormon's  divine  girlish  ignorance  of 
life  was  an  offence  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  She  was  any- 
thing but  observant,  as  her  treatment  of  her  suitors  suffi- 
ciently showed.  At  this  ver}r  moment,  a  girl  of  sixteen  who 
had  never  opened  a  novel  in  her  life  might  have  read  a  hun- 
dred chapters  of  romance  in  Athanase's  eyes.  But  Mile. 
Cormon  saw  nothing  all  the  while;  she  never  knew  that  the 
young  man's  voice  was  unsteady  with  emotion  which  he  dared 
not  express,  and  the  woman  who  could  invent  refinements  of 
high  sentiment  to  her  own  undoing  could  not  discern  the  same 
feelings  in  Athanase. 

Those  who  know  that  qualities  of  heart  and  brain  are  as 
independent  of  each  other  as  genius  and  greatness  of  soul, 
will  see  nothing  extraordinary  in  this  psychological 
phenomenon.  A  complete  human  being  is  so  rare  a  prodigy, 
that  Socrates,  that  pearl  among  mankind,  agreed  with  a  con- 
temporary phrenologist  that  he  himself  was  born  to  be  a  very 
scurvy  knave.  A  great  general  may  save  his  country  at  Zu- 
rich, and  yet  take  a  commission  from  contractors ;  a  banker's 
doubtful  honesty  does  not  prevent  him  from  being  a  states- 
man ;  a  great  composer  may  give  the  world  divine  music,  and 
yet  forge  another  man's  signature,  and  a  woman  of  refined 
feeling  may  be  excessively  weak-minded.  In  short,  a  devout 
woman  may  have  a  very  lofty  soul,  and  yet  have  no  ears  to 
hear  the  voice  of  another  noble  soul  at  her  side. 

The  unaccountable  freaks  of  physical  infirmity  find  a 
parallel  in  the  moral  world.  Here  was  a  good  creature  mak- 
ing her  preserves  and  breaking  her  heart  till  she  grew  almost 
ridiculous,  because,  forsooth,  there  was  no  one  to  eat  them 
but  her  uncle  and  herself.  Those  who  sympathized  with  her 
for  the  sake  of  her  good  qualities,  or,  in  some  cases,  on  ac- 
count of  her  defects,  used  to  laugh  over  her  disappointments. 
People  began  to  wonder  what  would  become  of  so  fine  a  prop- 
erty with  all  Mile.  Cormon's  savings,  and  her  uncle's  to 
boot 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  ft? 

It  was  long  since  they  began  to  suspect  that  at  bottom, 
and  in  spite  of  appearances,  Mile.  Cormon  was  "an  original." 
Originality  is  not  allowed  in  the  provinces ;  originality  means 
that  you  have  ideas  which  nobody  else  can  understand,  and 
in  a  country  town  people's  intellects,  like  their  manner  of  life, 
must  all  be  on  a  level.  Even  in  1804  Rose's  matri- 
monial prospects  were  considered  so  problematical,  that 
"to  marry  like  Mile.  Cormon "  Avas  a  current  saying  in 
Alenc,on,  and  the  most  ironical  way  of  suggesting  Such-an- 
one  would  never  marry  at  all. 

The  necessity  to  laugh  at  some  one  must  indeed  be  im- 
perious in  France,  if  any  one  could  be  found  to  raise  a  smile 
at  the  expense  of  that  excellent  creature.  Not  merely  did 
she  entertain  the  whole  town,  she  was  charitable,  she  was 
good ;  she  was  incapable  of  saying  a  spiteful  word ;  and  more 
than  that,  she  was  so  much  in  unison  with  the  whole  spirit 
of  the  place,  its  manners  and  its  customs,  that  she  was  gen- 
erally beloved  as  the  very  incarnation  of  the  life  of  the 
province ;  she  had  imbibed  all  its  prejudices  and  made  its  in- 
terests hers ;  she  had  never  gone  beyond  its  limits,  she  adored 
it ;  she  was  embedded  in  provincial  tradition.  In  spite  of  her 
eighteen  thousand  livres  per  annum,  a  tolerably  large  income 
for  the  neighborhood,  she  accommodated  herself  to  the  ways 
of  her  less  wealthy  neighbors.  When  she  went  to  her  country 
house,  the  Prebaudet,  for  instance,  she  drove  over  in  an  old- 
fashioned  wicker  cariole  hung  with  white  leather  straps,  and 
fitted  with  a  couple  of  rusty  weather-beaten  leather  curtains, 
which  scarcely  closed  it  in.  The  equipage,  drawn  by  a  fat 
broken-winded  mare,  was  known  all  over  the  town.  Jacque- 
lin,  the  man-servant,  cleaned  it  as  carefully  as  if  it  had  been 
the  finest  brougham  from  Paris.  Mademoiselle  was  fond  of  it ; 
it  had  lasted  her  a  dozen  years,  a  fact  which  she  was  wont  to 
point  out  with  the  triumphant  joy  of  contented  parsimony. 
Most  people  were  grateful  to  her  for  forbearing  to  humiliate 
them  by  splendor  which  she  might  have  flaunted  before  their 
eyes ;  it  is  even  credible  that  if  she  had  sent  for  a  caleche  from 
Paris,  it  would  have  caused  more  talk  than  any  of  her  "disap- 
VOL.  7 — a/ 


64  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

pointments."  After  all,  the  finest  carriage  in  the  world,  like 
the  old-fashioned  cariole,  could  only  have  taken  her  to  the 
Prebaudet;  and  in  the  provinces  they  always  keep  the  end  in 
view,  and  trouble  themselves  very  little  about  the  elegance  of 
the  means,  provided  that  they  are  sufficient. 

To  complete  the  picture  of  Mile.  Cormon's  household  and 
domestic  life,  several  figures  must  be  grouped  round  Mile. 
Cormon  and  the  Abbe  de  Sponde.  Jacquelin,  and  Josette, 
and  Mariette,  the  cook,  ministered  to  the  comfort  of  uncle  and 
niece. 

Jacquelin,  a  man  of  forty,  short  and  stout,  dark-haired  and 
ruddy,  with  a  countenance  of  the  Breton  sailor  type,  had 
been  in  service  in  the  house  for  twenty-two  years.  He  waited 
at  table,  groomed  the  mare,  worked  in  the  garden,  cleaned  the 
Abbe's  shoes,  ran  errands,  chopped  firewood,  drove  the  cariole, 
went  to  the  Prebaudet  for  corn,  hay  and  straw,  and 
slept  like  a  dormouse  in  the  ante-chamber  of  ah  evening.  He 
was  supposed  to  be  fond  of  Josette,  and  Josette  was  six-and- 
thirty.  But  if  she  had  married  him,  Mile.  Cormon  would 
have  dismissed  her,  and  so  the  poor  lovers  were  fain  to  save 
up  their  wages  in  silence,  and  to  wait  and  hope  for  made- 
moiselle's marriage,  much  as  the  Jews  look  for  the  advent  of 
the  Messiah. 

Josette  came  from  the  district  between  Alengon  and 
Mortagne;  she  was  a  fat  little  woman.  Her  face,  which  re- 
minded you  of  a  mud-bespattered  apricot,  was  not  wanting 
either  in  character  or  intelligence.  She  was  supposed  to  rule 
her  mistress.  Josette  and  Jacquelin,  feeling  sure  of  the 
event,  found  consolation,  presumably  by  discounting  the 
future.  Mariette,  the  cook,  had  likewise  been  in  the  family 
for  fifteen  years ;  she  was  skilled  in  the  cookery  of  the  country 
and  the  preparation  of  the  most  esteemed  provincial  dishes. 

Perhaps  the  fat  old  bay  mare,  of  the  Normandy  breed, 
which  Mile.  Cormon  used  to  drive  to  the  Prebaudet,  ought  to 
count  a  good  deal,  for  the  affection  which  the  five  inmates  of 
the  house  bore  the  animal  amounted  to  mania.  Penelope, 
for  that  was  her  name,  had  been  with  them  for  eighteen  years ', 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  65 

and  so  well  was  she  cared  for,  so  regularly  tended,  that  Jacque- 
lin  and  mademoiselle  hoped  to  get  quite  another  ten  years 
of  work  out  of  her.  Penelope  was  a  stock  subject  and  source 
of  interest  in  their  lives.  It  seemed  as  if  poor  Mile.  Cormon, 
with  no  child  of  her  own,  lavished  all  her  maternal  affection 
upon  the  lucky  beast.  Almost  every  human  being  leading  a 
solitary  life  in  a  crowded  world  will  surround  himself  with 
a  make-believe  family  of  some  sort,  and  Penelope  took  the 
place  of  dogs,  cats,  or  canaries. 

These  four  faithful  servants — for  Penelope's  intelligence 
had  been  trained  till  it  was  very  nearly  on  a  par  with  the 
wits  of  the  other  three,  while  they  had  sunk  pretty  much  into 
the  dumb,  submissive  jog-trot  life  of  the  animal — these  four 
retainers  came  and  went  and  did  the  same  things  day  after 
day,  with  the  unfailing  regularity  of  clockwork.  But,  to  use 
their  own  expression,  "they  had  eaten  their  white  bread  first." 
Mile.  Cormon  suffered  from  a  fixed  idea  upon  the  nerves; 
and,  after  the  wont  of  such  sufferers,  she  grew  fidgety  and 
hard  to  please,  not  by  force  of  nature,  but  because  she  had  no 
outlet  for  her  energies.  She  had  neither  husband  nor 
children  to  fill  her  thoughts,  so  they  fastened  upon  trifles. 
She  would  talk  for  hours  at  a  stretch  of  some  inconceivably 
small  matter,  of  a  dozen  serviettes,  for  instance,  lettered  Z, 
which  somehow  or  other  had  been  put  before  0. 

"Why,  what  can  Josette  be  thinking  about?"  she  cried. 
"Has  she  no  notion  what  she  is  doing?" 

Jacquelin  chanced  to  be  late  in  feeding  Penelope  one  after- 
noon, so  every  day  for  a  whole  week  afterwards  mademoiselle 
inquired  whether  the  horse  had  been  fed  at  two  o'clock.  Her 
narrow  imagination  spent  itself  on  small  matters.  A  layer  of 
dust  forgotten  by  the  feather  mop,  a  slice  of  scorched  toast, 
an  omission  to  close  the  shutters  on  Jacquelin's  part  when  the 
sun  shone  in  upon  furniture  and  carpets, — all  these  important 
trifles  produced  serious  trouble,  mademoiselle  lost  her  temper 
over  them.  "Nothing  was  the  same  as  it  used  to  be.  The 
servants  of  old  days  were  so  changed  that  she  did  not  know 
them.  They  were  spoilt.  She  was  too  good  to  them,"  and 


66  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

so  forth  and  so  forth.  One  day  Josette  gave  her  mistress  the 
Journee  du  Chretien  instead  of  the  Quinzaine  de  Paques.  The 
whole  town  heard  of  the  mistake  before  night.  Mademoiselle 
had  been  obliged  to  get  up  and  come  out  of  church,  disturbing 
whole  rows  of  chairs  and  raising  the  wildest  conjectures,  so 
that  she  was  obliged  afterwards  to  give  all  her  friends  a  full 
account  of  the  mishap. 

"Josette/'  she  said  mildly,  when  she  had  come  the  whole 
way  -home  from  St.  Leonard's,  "this  must  never  happen 
again/' 

Mile.  Cormon  was  far  from  suspecting  that  it  was  a  very 
fortunate  thing  for  her  that  she  could  vent  her  spleen  in  petty 
squabbles.  The  mind,  like  the  body,  requires  exercise ;  these 
quarrels  were  a  sort  of  mental  gymnastics.  Josette  and  Jacque- 
lin  took  such  unevennesses  of  temper  as  the  agricultural 
laborer  takes  the  changes  of  the  weather.  The  three  good 
souls  could  say  among  themselves  that  "It  is  a  fine  day,"  or 
"It  rains,"  without  murmuring  against  the  powers  above. 
Sometimes  in  the  kitchen  of  a  morning  they  would  wonder  in 
what  humor  mademoiselle  would  wake,  much  as  a  farmer 
studies  the  morning  mists.  And  of  necessity  Mile.  Cormon 
ended  by  seeing  herself  in  all  the  infinitely  small  details  which 
made  up  her  life.  Herself  and  God,  her  confessor  and  her 
washing-days,  the  preserves  to  be  made,  the  services  of  the 
church  to  attend,  and  the  uncle  to  take  care  of, — all  these 
things,  absorbed  faculties  that  were  none  of  the  strongest. 
For  her  the  atoms  of  life  were  magnified  by  virtue  of  anoptical 
process  peculiar  to  the  selfish  or  the  self-absorbed.  To  so  per- 
fectly healthy  a  woman,  the  slightest  symptom  of  indigestion 
was  a  positively  alarming  portent.  She  lived,  moreover, 
under  the  ferule  of  the  system  of  medicine  practised  by  our 
grandsires ;  a  drastic  dose  fit  to  kill  Penelope,  taken  four  times 
a  year,  merely  gave  Mile.  Cormon  a  fillip. 

What  tremendous  ransackings  of  the  week's  dietary  if 
Josette,  assisting  her  mistress  to  dress,  discovered  a  scarcely 
visible  pimple  on  shoulders  that  still  boasted  a  satin  skin! 
What  triumph  if  the  maid  could  bring  a  certain  hare  to  her 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  67 

mistress'  recollection,  and  trace  the  accursed  pimple  to  its 
origin  in  that  too  heating  article  of  food !  With  what  joy  the 
two  women  would  cry,  "It  is  the  hare  beyond  a  doubt !" 

"Mariette  over-seasoned  it,"  mademoiselle  would  add;  "I 
always  tell  her  not  to  overdo  it  for  my  uncle  and  me,  but 
Mariette  has  no  more  memory  than " 

"Than  the  hare,"  suggested  Josette. 

"It  is  the  truth,"  returned  mademoiselle ;  "she  has  no  more 
memory  than  the  hare ;  you  have  just  hit  it." 

Four  times  in  a  year,  at  the  beginning  of  each  season,  Mile. 
Cormon  went  to  spend  a  certain  number  of  days  at  the 
Prebaudet.  It  was  now  the  middle  of  May,  when  she  liked 
to  see  how  her  apple-trees  had  "snowed,"  as  they  say  in  the 
cider  country,  an  allusion  to  the  white  blossoms  strewn  in  the 
orchards  in  the  spring.  When  the  circles  of  fallen  petals  look 
like  snow-drifts  under  the  trees,  the  proprietor  may  hope  to 
have  abundance  of  cider  in  the  autumn.  Mile.  Cormon  esti- 
mated her  barrels,  and  at  the  same  time  superintended  any 
necessary  after-winter  repairs,  planning  out  work  in  the 
garden  and  orchard,  from  which  she  drew  no  inconsiderable 
supplies.  Each  time  of  year  had  its  special  business. 

Mademoiselle  used  to  give  a  farewell  dinner  to  her  faithful 
inner  circle  before  leaving,  albeit  she  would  see  them  again 
at  the  end  of  three  weeks.  All  Alengon  knew  when  the 
journey  was  to  be  undertaken.  Any  one  that  had  fallen  behind- 
hand immediately  paid  a  call,  her  drawing-room  was  filled; 
everybody  wished  her  a  prosperous  journey,  as  if  she  had  been 
starting  for  Calcutta.  Then,  in  the  morning,  all  the  trades- 
people were  standing  in  their  doorways ;  every  one,  great  and 
small,  watched  the  cariole  go  past,  and  it  seemed  as  if  every- 
body learned  a  piece  of  fresh  news  when  one  repeated  after 
another,  "So  Mile.  Cormon  is  going  to  the  Prebaudet." 

One  would  remark,  "She  has  bread  ready  baked,  she  has !" 

And  his  neighbor  would  return,  "Eh !  my  lads,  she  is  a  good 
woman ;  if  property  always  fell  into  such  hands  as  hers,  there 
would  not  be  a  beggar  to  be  seen  in  the  countryside." 


68  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Or  another  would  exclaim,  "Hullo !  I  should  not  wonder 
if  our  oldest  vines  are  in  flower,  for  there  is  Mile.  Cormon 
setting  out  for  the  Prebaudet.  How  comes  it  that  she  is  so 
little  given  to  marrying?" 

"I  should  be  quite  ready  to  marry  her,  all  the  same,"  a  wag 
would  answer.  "The  marriage  is  half  made — one  side  is 
willing,  but  the  other  isn't.  Pooh!  the  oven  is  heating  for 
M.  du  Bousquier." 

"M .  du  Bousquier  ?    She  has  refused  him." 

At  every  house  that  evening  people  remarked  solemnly, 
"Mile.  Cormon  has  gone." 

Or  perhaps,  "So  you  have  let  Mile.  Cormon  go !" 

The  Wednesday  selected  by  Suzanne  for  making  a  scandal 
chanced  to  be  this  very  day  of  leave-taking,  when  Mile.  Cor- 
mon nearly  drove  Josette  to  distraction  over  the  packing  of 
the  parcels  which  she  meant  to  take  with  her.  A  good  deal 
that  was  done  and  said  in  the  town  that  morning  was  like  to 
lend  additional  interest  to  the  farewell  gathering  at  night. 
While  the  old  maid  was  busily  making  preparations  for  her 
journey;  while  the  astute  Chevalier  was  playing  his  game  of 
piquet  in  the  house  of  Mile.  Armande  de  Gordes,  sister  of  the 
aged  Marquis  de  Gordes,  and  queen  of  the  aristocratic  salon, 
Mme.  Granson  had  sounded  the  alarm  bell  in  half  a  score  of 
houses.  There  was  not  a  soul  but  felt  some  curiosity  to  see 
what  sort  of  figure  the  seducer  would  cut  that  evening ;  and  to 
Mme.  Granson  and  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  it  was  an  impor- 
tant matter  to  know  how  Mile.  Cormon  would  take  the  news, 
in  her  double  quality  of  marriageable  spinster  and  lady  presi- 
dent of  the  Maternity  Fund.  As  for  the  unsuspecting  du 
Bousquier,  he  was  taking  the  air  on  the  Parade.  He  was  just 
beginning  to  think  that  Suzanne  had  made  a  fool  of  him ;  and 
this  suspicion  only  confirmed  the  rules  which  he  had  laid 
down  with  regard  to  womankind. 

On  these  high  days  the  cloth  was  laid  about  half-past  three 
in  the  Maison  Cormon.  Four  o'clock  was  the  state  dinner 
hour  in  Alenqon,  on  ordinary  days  they  dined  at  two,  as  in  the 
time  of  the  Empire ;  but,  then,  they  supped  I 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  69 

Mile.  Cormon  always  felt  an  inexpressible  sense  of  satisfac- 
tion when  she  was  dressed  to  receive  her  guests  as  mistress  of 
her  house.  It  was  one  of  the  pleasures  which  she  most  relished, 
be  it  said  without  malice,  though  egoism  certainly  lay  beneath 
the  feeling.  When  thus  arrayed  for  conquest,  a  ray  of  hope 
slid  across  the  darkness  of  her  soul;  a  voice  within  her  cried 
that  nature  had  not  endowed  her  so  abundantly  in  vain,  that 
surely  some  enterprising  man  was  about  to  appear  for  her. 
She  felt  the  younger  for  the  wish,  and  the  fresher  for  her 
toilet;  she  looked  at  her  stout  figure  with  a  certain  elation; 
and  afterwards,  when  she  went  downstairs  to  submit  salon, 
study,  and  boudoir  to  an  awful  scrutiny,  this  sense  of  satisfac- 
tion still  remained  with  her.  To  and  fro  she  went,  with  the 
naive  contentment  of  the  rich  man  who  feels  conscious  at  every 
moment  that  he  is  rich  and  will  lack  for  nothing  all  his  life 
long.  She  looked  round  upon  her  furniture,  the  eternal  furni- 
ture, the  antiquities,  the  lacquered  panels,  and  told  herself 
that  such  fine  things  ought  to  have  a  master. 

After  admiring  the  dining-room,  where  the  space  was 
filled  by  the  long  table  with  its  snowy  cloth,  its  score  of 
covers  symmetrically  laid;  after  going  through  the  roll-call 
of  a  squadron  of  bottles  ordered  up  from  the  cellar,  and  mak- 
ing sure  that  each  bore  an  honorable  label ;  and  finally,  after 
a  most  minute  verification  of  a  score  of  little  slips  of  paper 
on  which  the  Abbe  had  written  the  names  of  the  guests  with  a 
trembling  hand — it  was  the  sole  occasion  on  which  he  took  an 
active  part  in  the  household,  and  the  place  of  every  guest 
always  gave  rise  to  grave  discussion — after  this  review,  Mile. 
Cormon  in  her  fine  array  went  into  the  garden  to  join  her 
uncle ;  for  at  this  pleasantest  hour  of  the  day  he  used  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  terrace  beside  the  Brillante,  listening  to  the 
twittering  of  the  birds,  which,  hidden  closely  among  the 
leaves  in  the  lime-tree  walk,  knew  no  fear  of  boys  or  sports- 
men. 

Mile.  Cormon  never  came  out  to  the  Abbe  during  these 
intervals  of  waiting  without  asking  some  hopelessly  absurd 
Question,  in  the  hope  of  drawing  the  good  man  into  a  discus- 


70      THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

sion  which  might  interest  him.  Her  reasons  for  so  doing  must 
be  given,  for  this  very  characteristic  trait  adds  the  finishing 
touch  to  her  portrait. 

Mile.  Cormon  considered  it  a  duty  to  talk;  not  that  she 
was  naturally  loquacious,  for,  unfortunately,  with  her  dearth 
of  ideas  and  very  limited  stock  of  phrases,  it  was  difficult  to 
hold  forth  at  any  length ;  but  she  thought  that  in  this  way  she 
was  fulfilling  the  social  duties  prescribed  by  religion,  which 
bids  us  be  agreeable  to  our  neighbor.  It  was  a  duty  which 
weighed  so  much  upon  her  mind,  that  she  had  submitted  this 
case  of  conscience  out  of  the  Child's  Guide  to  Manners  to  her 
director,  the  Abbe  Couturier.  Whereupon,  so  far  from  being 
disarmed  by  the  penitent's  humble  admission  of  the  violence 
of  her  mental  struggles  to  find  something  to  say,  the  old 
ecclesiastic,  being  firm  in  matters  of  discipline,  read  her  a 
whole  chapter  out  of  St.  Frangois  de  Sales  on  the  Duties  of  a 
Woman  in  the  World ;  on  the  decent  gaiety  of  the  pious  Chris- 
tian female,  and  the  duty  of  confining  her  austerities  to  her- 
self ;  a  woman,  according  to  this  authority,  ought  to  be  amiable 
in  her  home  and  to  act  in  such  a  sort  that  her  neighbor  never 
feels  dull  in  her  company.  After  this  Mile.  Cormon,  with  a 
deep  sense  of  duty,  was  anxious  to  obey  her  director  at  any 
cost.  He  had  bidden  her  to  discourse  agreeably,  so  every  time 
the  conversation  languished  she  felt  the  perspiration  breaking 
out  over  her  with  the  violence  of  her  exertions  to  find  some- 
thing to  say  which  should  stimulate  the  flagging  interest.  She 
would  come  out  with  odd  remarks  at  such  times.  Once  she 
revived,  with  some  success,  a  discussion  on  the  ubiquity  of  the 
apostles  (of  which  she  understood  not  a  syllable)  by  the  un- 
expected observation  that  "You  cannot  be  in  two  places  at 
once  unless  you  are  a  bird."  With  such  conversational  cues  as 
these,  the  lady  had  earned  the  title  of  "clear,  good  Mile. 
Cormon"  in  her  set,  which  phrase,  in  the  mouth  of  local  wits, 
might  be  taken  to  mean  that  she  was  as  ignorant  as  a  carp, 
and  a  bit  of  a  "natural;"  but  there  were  plenty  of  people  of 
her  own  calibre  to  take  the  remark  literally,  and  reply,  "Oh 
yes,  Mile.  Cormon  is  very  good." 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN      71 

Sometimes  (always  in  her  desire  to  be  agreeable  to  her 
guests  and  fulfil  her  duties  as  a  hostess)  she  asked  such  ab- 
surd questions  that  everybody  burst  out  laughing.  She  wanted 
to  know,  for  example,  what  the  Government  did  with  the  taxes 
which  it  had  been  receiving  all  these  years;  or  how  it  was 
that  the  Bible  had  not  been  printed  in  the  time  of  Christ,  see- 
ing that  it  had  been  written  by  Moses.  Altogether  she  was  on 
a  par  with  the  English  country  gentleman,  and  member 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  who  made  the  famous  speech  in 
which  he  said,  "I  am  always  hearing  of  Posterity;  I  should 
very  much  like  to  know  what  Posterity  has  done  for  the 
country." 

On  such  occasions,  the  heroic  Chevalier  de  Valois  came  to 
the  rescue,  bringing  up  all  the  resources  of  his  wit  and  tact 
at  the  sight  of  the  smiles  exchanged  by  pitiless  smatterers. 
He  loved  to  give  to  woman,  did  this  elderly  noble ;  he  lent  his 
wit  to  Mile.  Cormon  by  coming  to  her  assistance  with  a  para- 
dox, and  covered  her  retreat  so  well,  that  sometimes  it  seemed 
as  if  she  had  said  nothing  foolish.  She  once  owned  seriously 
that  she  did  not  know  the  difference  between  an  ox  and  a  bull. 
The  enchanting  Chevalier  stopped  the  roars  of  laughter  by 
saying  that  oxen  could  never  be  more  than  uncles  to  the 
bullocks.  Another  time,  hearing  much  talk  of  cattle-breeding 
and  its  difficulties — a  topic  which  often  comes  up  in  conversa- 
tion in  the  neighborhood  of  the  superb  du  Pin  stud — she  so 
far  grasped  the  technicalities  of  horse  breeding  to  ask,  "Why, 
if  they  wanted  colts,  they  did  not  serve  a  mare  twice  a  year." 
The  Chevalier  drew  down  the  laughter  upon  himself. 

"It  is  quite  possible,"  said  he.  The  company  pricked  up 
their  cars. 

"The  fault  lies  with  the  naturalists,"  he  continued;  "they 
have  not  found  out  how  to  breed  mares  that  are  less  than 
eleven  months  in  foal." 

Poor  Mile.  Cormon  no  more  understood  the  meaning  of  the 
words  than  the  difference  between  the  ox  and  the  bull.  The 
Chevalier  met  with  no  gratitude  for  his  pains ;  his  chivalrous 
•services  were  beyond  the  reach  of  the  lady's  comprehension. 


72  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

She  saw  that  the  conversation  grew  livelier;  she  was  relieved 
to  find  that  she  was  not  so  stupid  as  she  imagined.  A  day 
came  at  last  when  she  settled  down  in  her  ignorance,  like  the 
Due  de  Brancas;  and  the  hero  of  Le  Distrait,  it  may  be  re- 
membered, made  himself  so  comfortable  in  the  ditch  after  his 
fall,  that  when  the  people  came  to  pull  him  out,  he  asked  what 
they  wanted  with  him.  Since  a  somewhat  recent  period  Mile. 
Cormon  had  lost  her  fears.  She  brought  out  her  conversa- 
tional cues  with  a  self-possession  akin  to  that  solemn  manner 
— the  very  coxcombry  of  stupidity — which  accompanies  the 
fatuous  utterances  of  British  patriotism. 

As  she  went  with  stately  steps  towards  the  terrace  there- 
fore, she  was  chewing  the  cud  of  reflection,  seeking  for  some 
question  which  should  draw  her  uncle  out  of  a  silence 
which  always  hurt  her  feelings ;  she  thought  that  he  felt  dull. 

"Uncle,"  she  began,  hanging  on  his  arm,  and  nestling  joy- 
ously close  to  him  (for  this  was  another  of  her  make-believes, 
"If  I  had  a  husband,  I  should  do  just  so!"  she  thought)  — 
"Uncle,  if  everything  on  earth  happens  by  the  will  of  God, 
there  must  be  a  reason  for  everything." 

"Assuredly,"  the  Abbe  de  Sponde  answered  gravely.  He 
loved  his  niece,  and  submitted  with  angelic  patience  to  be  torn 
from  his  meditations. 

"Then  if  I  never  marry  at  all,  it  will  be  because  it  is  the 
will  of  God?" 

"Yes,  my  child." 

"But  still,  as  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  marrying 
to-morrow,  my  will  perhaps  might  thwart  the  will  of  God  ?" 

"That  might  be  so,  if  we  really  knew  God's  will,"  returned 
the  sub-prior  of  the  Sorbonne.  "Eemark,  my  dear,  that  you 
insert  an  if." 

Poor  Rose  was  bewildered.  She  had  hoped  to  lead  her 
uncle  to  the  subject  of  marriage  by  way  of  an  argument  ad 
omnipotentem.  But  the  naturally  obtuse  are  wont  to  adopt 
the  remorseless  logic  of  childhood,  which  is  to  say,  they  pro- 
ceed from  the  answer  to  another  question,  a  method  frequently 
found  embarrassing. 


73 

"But,  uncle,"  she  persisted,  "God  cannot  mean  women  never 
to  marry;  for  if  He  did,  all  of  them  ought  to  be  either  un- 
married or  married.  Their  lots  are  distributed  unjustly." 

"My  child/'  said  the  good  Abbe,  "you  are  finding  fault  with 
the  Church,  which  teaches  that  celibacy  is  a  more  excellent 
way  to  God." 

"But  if  the  Church  was  right,  and  everybody  was  a  good 
Catholic,  there  would  soon  be  no  more  people,  uncle." 

"You  are  too  ingenious,  Eose ;  there  is  no  need  to  be  so  in- 
genious to  be  happy." 

Such  words  brought  a  smile  of  satisfaction  to  poor  Hose's 
lips  and  confirmed  her  in  the  good  opinion  which  she  began 
to  conceive  of  herself.  Behold  how  the  world,  like  our  friends 
and  enemies,  contributes  to  strengthen  our  faults.  At  this 
moment  guests  began  to  arrive,  and  the  conversation  was  in- 
terrupted. On  these  high  festival  occasions,  the  disposition 
of  the  rooms  brought  about  little  familiarities  between  the 
servants  and  invited  guests.  Mariette  saw  the  President  of 
the  Tribunal,  a  triple  expansion  glutton,  as  he  passed  by  her 
kitchen. 

"Oh,  M.  du  Ronceret,  I  have  been  making  cauliflower  au 
gratin  on  purpose  for  you,  for  mademoiselle  knows  how  fond 
you  are  of  it.  'Mind  you  do  not  fail  with  it,  Mariette/  she 
said ;  'M.  le  President  is  coming.' '' 

"Good  Mile.  Cormon,"  returned  the  man  of  law.  "Mari- 
ette, did  you  baste  the  cauliflowers  with  gravy  instead  of 
stock?  It  is  more  savory."  And  the  President  did  not  dis- 
dain to  enter  the  council-chamber  where  Mariette  ruled  the 
roast,  nor  to  cast  an  epicure's  eye  over  her  preparations,  and 
give  his  opinion  as  a  master  of  the  craft. 

"Good-day,  madame,"  said  Josette,  addressing  Mme.  Gran- 
son,  who  sedulously  cultivated  the  waiting-woman.  "Made- 
moiselle has  not  forgotten  you ;  you  are  to  have  a  dish  of  fish." 

As  for  the  Chevalier  de  Yalois,  he  spoke  to  Mariette  with 
the  jocularity  of  a  great  noble  unbending  to  an  inferior : 

"Well,  dear  cordon  bleu,  I  would  give  you  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor  if  I  could;  tell  me,  is  there  any  dainty 
morsel  for  which  one  ought  to  sajg  oneself  ?" 


74  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"Yes,  yes,  M.  de  Valois,  a  hare  from  the  Prebaudet;  it 
weighed  fourteen  pounds  I" 

"That's  a  good  girl,"  said  the  Chevalier,  patting  Josette  on 
the  cheek  with  two  fingers.  "Ah!  weighs  fourteen  pounds, 
docs  it?" 

Du  Bousquier  was  not  of  the  party.  Mile.  Cormon  treated 
him  hardly,  faithful  to  her  system  before  described.  In  the 
very  bottom  of  her  heart  she  felt  an  inexplicable  drawing 
towards  this  man  of  fifty,  whom  she  had  once  refused.  Some- 
times she  repented  of  that  refusal,  and  yet  she  had  a  pre- 
sentiment that  she  should  marry  him  after  all,  and  a  dread  of 
him  which  forbade  her  to  wish  for  the  marriage.  These  ideas 
stimulated  her  interest  in  du  Bousquier.  The  Eepublican's 
herculean  proportions  produced  an  effect  upon  her  which  she 
would  not  admit  to  herself;  and  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  and 
Mme.  Granson,  while  they  could  not  explain  Mile.  Cormon's 
inconsistencies,  had  detected  naive,  furtive  glances,  sufficiently 
clear  in  their  significance  to  set  them  both  on  the  watch  to 
ruin  the  hopes  which  du  Bousquier  clearly  entertained  in  spite 
of  a  first  check. 

Two  guests  kept  the  others  waiting,  but  their  official  duties 
excused  them  both.  One  was  M.  du  Coudrai,  registrar  of 
mortgages;  the  other,  M.  Choisnel,  had  once  acted  as  land- 
steward  to  the  Marquis  de  Gordes.  Choisnel  was  the  notary 
of  the  old  noblesse,  and  received  everywhere  among  them  with 
the  distinction  which  his  merits  deserved ;  he  had  besides  a  not 
inconsiderable  private  fortune.  When  the  two  late  comers  ar- 
rived, Jacquelin,  the  man-servant,  seeing  them  turn  to  go  into 
the  drawing-room,  came  forward  with,  "  'They'  are  all  in  the 
garden." 

The  registrar  of  mortgages  was  one  of  the  most  amiable 
men  in  the  town.  There  were  but  two  things  against  him — 
he  had  married  an  old  woman  for  her  money  in  the  first  place, 
and  in  the  second  it  was  his  habit  to  perpetrate  outrageous 
puns,  at  which  he  was  the  first  jto  laugh.  But,  doubtless,  the 
stomachs  of  the  guests  were  growing  impatient,  for  at  first 
Bight  he  was  hailed  with  that  faint  sigh  which  usually  wel- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  75 

comes  last  comers  under  such  circumstances.  Pending  the 
official  announcement  of  dinner,  the  company  strolled  up  and 
down  the  terrace  by  the  Brillante,  looking  out  over  the  stream 
with  its  bed  of  mosaic  and  its  water-plants,  at  the  so  pictur- 
esque details  of  the  row  of  houses  huddled  together  on  the 
opposite  bank;  the  old-fashioned  wooden  balconies,  the 
tumble-down  window  sills,  the  balks  of  timber  that  shored 
up  a  story  projecting  over  the  river,  the  cabinet-maker's  work- 
shop, the  tiny  gardens  where  odds  and  ends  of  clothing  were 
hanging  out  to  dry.  It  was,  in  short,  the  poor  quarter  of  a 
country  town,  to  which  the  near  neighborhood  of  the  water, 
a  weeping  willow  drooping  over  the  bank,  a  rosebush  or  so, 
and  a  few  flowers,  had  lent  an  indescribable  charm,  worthy  of 
a  landscape  painter's  brush. 

The  Chevalier  meanwhile  was  narrowly  watching  the  faces 
of  the  guests.  He  knew  that  his  firebrand  had  very  success- 
fully taken  hold  of  the  best  coteries  in  the  town ;  but  no  one 
spoke  openly  of  Suzanne  and  du  Bousquier  and  the  great  news 
as  yet.  The  art  of  distilling  scandal  is  possessed  by  pro- 
vincials in  a  supreme  degree.  It  was  felt  that  the  time  was 
not  yet  ripe  for  open  discussion  of  the  strange  event.  Every 
one  was  bound  to  go  through  a  private  rehearsal  first.  So  it 
was  whispered: 

"Have  you  heard  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Du  Bousquier?" 

"And  the  fair  Suzanne." 

"Does  Mile.  Cormon  know  anything  ?" 

"No." 

"Ah!" 

This  was  gossip  piano,  presently  destined  to  swell  into  a 
crescendo  when  they  were  ready  to  discuss  the  first  dish  of 
scandal. 

All  of  a  sudden  the  Chevalier  confronted  Mme.  Granson. 
That  lady  had  sported  her  green  bonnet,  trimmed  with  au- 
riculas ;  her  face  was  beaming.  Was  she  simply  longing  to 
begin  the  concert  ?  Such  news  is  as  good  as  a  gold-mine  to  be 


76  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

worked  in  the  monotonous  lives  of  these  people ;  but  the  ob- 
servant and  uneasy  Chevalier  fancied  that  he  read  something 
more  in  the  good  lady's  expression — to  wit,  the  exultation  of 
self-interest!  At  once  he  turned  to  look  at  Athanase,  and 
detected  in  his  silence  the  signs  of  profound  concentration  of 
some  kind.  In  another  moment  the  young  man's  glance  at 
Mile.  Cormon's  figure,  which  sufficiently  resembled  a  pair  of 
regimental  kettledrums,  shot  a  sudden  light  across  the  Cheva- 
lier's brain.  By  that  gleam  he  could  read  the  whole  past. 

"Egad !"  he  said  to  himself,  "what  a  slap  in  the  face  I  have 
laid  myself  out  to  get !" 

He  went  across  to  offer  his  arm  to  Mile.  Cormon,  so  that  he 
might  afterwards  take  her  in  to  dinner.  She  regarded  the 
Chevalier  with  respectful  esteem ;  for,  in  truth,  with  his  name 
and  position  in  the  aristocratic  constellations  of  the  province, 
he  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  ornaments  of  her  salon.  In 
her  heart  of  hearts,  she  had  longed  to  be  Mme.  de  Valois  at 
any  time  during  the  past  twelve  years.  The  name  was  like  a 
branch  for  the  swarming  thoughts  of  her  brain  to  cling  about 
— he  fulfilled  all  her  ideals  as  to  the  birth,  quality,  and  ex- 
ternals of  an  eligible  man.  But  while  the  Chevalier  de  Valois 
was  the  choice  of  heart  and  brain  and  social  ambition,  the 
elderly  ruin,  curled  though  he  was  like  a  St.  John  of  a  proces- 
sion-day, filled  Mile.  Cormon  with  dismay;  the  heiress  saw 
nothing  but  the  noble ;  the  woman  could  not  think  of  him  as 
a  husband.  The  Chevalier's  affectation  of  indifference  to  mar- 
riage, and  still  more  his  unimpeachable  character  in  a  house- 
ful of  work-girls,  had  seriously  injured  him,  contrary  to  his 
own  expectations.  The  man  of  quality,  so  clear-sighted  in  the 
matter  of  the  annuity,  miscalculated  on  this  subject;  and 
Mile.  Cormon  herself  was  not  aware  that  her  private  reflec- 
tions upon  the  too  well-conducted  Chevalier  might  have  been 
translated  by  the  remark,  "What  a  pity  that  he  is  not  a  little 
bit  of  a  rake !" 

Students  of  human  nature  have  remarked  these  leanings  of 
the  saint  towards  the  sinner,  and  wondered  at  a  taste  so  little 
in  accordance,  as  they  imagine,  with  Christian  virtue.  But,  to 


At  once  he  turned  to  look  at  Athanase 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  77 

go  no  further,  what  nobler  destiny  for  a  virtuous  woman.than 
the  task  of  cleansing,  after  the  manner  of  charcoal,  the  turbid 
waters  of  vice?  How  is  it  that  nobody  has  seen  that  these 
generous  creatures,  confined  by  their  principles  to  strict  con- 
jugal fidelity,  must  naturally  desire  a  mate  of  great  practical 
experience?  A  reformed  rake  makes  the  best  husband.  And 
so  it  came  to  pass  that  the  poor  spinster  must  sigh  over  the 
chosen  vessel,  offered  her  as  it  were  in  two  pieces.  Heaven 
alone  could  weld  the  Chevalier  de  Yalois  and  du  Bousquier 
in  one. 

If  the  significance  of  the  few  words  exchanged  between  the 
Chevalier  and  Mile.  Cormon  is  to  be  properly  understood,  it  is 
necessary  to  put  other  matters  before  the  reader.  Two  very 
serious  questions  were  dividing  Alengon  into  two  camps,  and, 
moreover,  du  Bousquier  was  mixed  up  in  both  affairs  in  some 
mysterious  way.  The  first  of  these  debates  concerned  the  cure. 
He  had  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  in  the  time  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, and  now  was  living  down  orthodox  prejudices  by  setting 
an  example  of  the  loftiest  goodness.  He  was  a  Cheverus  on  a 
smaller  scale,  and  so  much  was  he  appreciated,  that  when  he 
died  the  whole  town  wept  for  him.  Mile.  Cormon  and  the 
Abbe  de  Sponde  belonged,  however,  to  the  minority,  to  the 
Church  sublime  in  its  orthodoxy,  a  section  which  was  to  the 
Court  of  Rome  as  the  Ultras  were  shortly  to  be  to  the  Court 
of  Louis  XVIII.  The  Abbe,  in  particular,  declined  to  recog- 
nize the  Church  that  had  submitted  to  force  and  made  terms 
with  the  Constitutionnels.  So  the  cure  was  never  seen  in  the 
salon  of  the  Maison  Cormon,  and  the  sympathies  of  its  fre- 
quenters were  with  the  officiating  priest  of  St.  Leonard's,  the 
aristocratic  church  in  Alengon.  Du  Bousquier,  that  rabid  Lib- 
eral under  a  Royalist's  skin,  knew  how  necessary  it  is  to  find 
standards  to  rally  the  discontented,  who  form,  as  it  were,  the 
back-shop  of  every  opposition,  and  therefore  he  had  already 
enlisted  the  sympathies  of  the  trading  classes  for  the  cure. 

Now  for  the  second  affair.  The  same  blunt  diplomatist  was 
the  secret  instigator  of  a  scheme  for  building  a  theatre,  an 
idea  which  had  only  lately  sprouted  in  Alengon.  Du  Bous- 


78  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

quiets  zealots  knew  not  their  Mahomet,  but  they  were  more 
ardent  in  their  defence  of  what  they  believed  to  be  their  own 
plan.  Athanase  was  one  of  the  very  hottest  of  the  partisans 
in  favor  of  the  theatre ;  in  the  mayor's  office  for  several  days 
past  he  had  been  pleading  for  the  cause  which  all  the  younger 
men  had  taken  up. 

To  return  to  the  Chevalier.  He  offered  his  arm  to  Mile. 
Cormon,  who  thanked  him  with  a  radiant  glance  for  this  at- 
tention. For  all  answer,  the  Chevalier  indicated  Athanase  by 
a  meaning  look. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  began,  "as  you  have  such  well-balanced 
judgment  in  matters  of  social  convention,  and  as  that  young 
man  is  related  to  you  in  some  way " 

"Very  distantly,"  she  broke  in. 

"Ought  you  not  to  use  the  influence  which  you  possess  with 
him  and  his  mother  to  prevent  him  from  going  utterly  to  the 
bad?  He  is  not  very  religious  as  it  is;  he  defends  that  per- 
jured priest;  but  that  is  nothing.  It  is  a  much  more  serious 
matter ;  is  he  not  plunging  thoughtlessly  into  opposition  with- 
out realizing  how  his  conduct  may  affect  his  prospects?  He 
is  scheming  to  build  this  theatre ;  he  is  the  dupe  of  that  Ee- 
publican  in  disguise,  du  Bousquier — 

"Dear  me,  M.  de  Valois,  his  mother  tells  me  that  he  is  so 
clever,  and  he  has  not  a  word  to  say  for  himself;  he  always 
stands  planted  before  you  like  a  statute " 

"Of  limitations,"  cried  the  registrar.  "I  caught  that  fly- 
ing.— I  present  my  devoars  to  the  Chevalier  de  Valois,"  he 
added,  saluting  the  latter  with  the  exaggeration  of  Henri 
Monnier  as  "Joseph  Prudhomme,"  an  admirable  type  of  the 
class  to  which  M.  du  Coudrai  belonged. 

M.  de  Valois,  in  return,  gave  him  the  abbreviated  patroniz- 
ing nod  of  a  noble  standing  on  his  dignity;  then  he  drew  Mile. 
Cormon  further  along  the  terrace  by  the  distance  of  several 
flower-pots,  to  make  the  registrar  understand  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  be  overheard. 

Then,  lowering  his  voice,  he  bent  to  say  in  Mile.  Cormon's 
ear:  "How  can  you  expect  that  lads  educated  in  these  de- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  79 

testable  Imperial  Lyceums  should  have  any  ideas?  Great 
ideas  and  a  lofty  love  can  only  come  of  right  courses  and 
nobleness  of  life.  It  is  not  difficult  to  foresee,  from  the  look 
of  the  poor  fellow,  that  he  will  be  weak  in  his  intellect  and 
come  to  a  miserable  end.  See  how  pale  and  haggard  he 
looks !" 

"His  mother  says  that  he  works  far  too  hard,"  she  replied 
innocently.  "He  spends  his  nights,  think  of  it!  in  reading 
books  and  writing.  What  good  can  it  possibly  do  a  young 
man's  prospects  to  sit  up  writing  at  night  ?" 

"Why,  it  exhausts  him,"  said  the  Chevalier,  trying  to  bring 
the  lady's  thoughts  back  to  the  point,  which  was  to  disgust 
her  with  Athanase.  "The  things  that  went  on  in  those  Im- 
perial Lyceums  were  something  really  shocking/' 

"Oh  yes,"  said  the  simple  lady.  "Did  they  not  make  them 
walk  out  with  drums  in  front?  The  masters  had  no  more 
religion  than  heathens ;  and  they  put  them  in  uniform,  poor 
boys,  exactly  as  if  they  had  been  soldiers.  What  notions !" 

"And  see  what  comes  of  it,"  continued  the  Chevalier,  indi- 
cating Athanase.  "In  my  time,  where  was  the  young  man 
that  could  not  look  a  pretty  woman  in  the  face?  Now,  he 
lowers  his  eyes  as  soon  as  he  sees  you.  That  young  man 
alarms  me,  because  I  am  interested  in  him.  Tell  him  not  to 
intrigue  with  Bonapartists,  as  he  is  doing,  to  build  this 
theatre ;  if  these  little  youngsters  do  not  raise  an  insurrection 
arid  demand  it  (for  insurrection  and  constitution,  to  my  mind, 
are  two  words  for  the  same  thing),  the  authorities  will  build 
it.  And  tell  his  mother  to  look  after  him/' 

"Oh,  she  will  not  allow  him  to  see  these  half-pay  people  or 
to  keep  low  company,  I  am  sure.  I  will  speak  to  him  about 
it,"  said  Mile.  Cormon;  "he  might  lose  his  situation  at  the 
mayor's  office.  And  then  what  would  they  do,  he  and  his 
mother  ?  It  makes  you  shudder." 

As  M.  de  Talleyrand  said  of  his  wife,  so  said  the  Cheva- 
lier within  himself  at  that  moment,  as  he  looked  at  the  lady : 

"If  there  is  a  stupider  woman,  I  should  like  to  see  her.  On 
the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  if  virtue  makes  a  woman  so  stupid 
VOL.  7 — 28 


80  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

as  this,  is  it  not  a  vice  ?  And  yet,  what  an  adorable  wife  she 
would  make  for  a  man  of  my  age !  What  principle !  What 
ignorance  of  life !" 

Please  to  bear  in  mind  that  these  remarks  were  addressed 
to  the  Princess  Goritza  during  the  manipulation  of  a  pinch 
of  snuff. 

Mme.  Granson  felt  instinctively  that  the  Chevalier  was 
talking  of  Athanase.  In  her  eagerness  to  know  what  he  had 
been  saying,  she  followed  Mile.  Cormon,  who  walked  up  to 
the  young  man  in  question,  putting  out  six  feet  of  dignity  in 
front;  but  at  that  very  moment  Jacquelin  announced  that 
"Mademoiselle  was  served/'  and  the  mistress  of  the  house  shot 
an  appealing  glance  at  the  Chevalier.  But  the  gallant  reg- 
istrar of  mortgages  v/as  beginning  to  see  a  something  in  M.  de 
Valois'  manner,  a  glimpse  of  the  barrier  which  the  noblesse 
were  about  to  raise  between  themselves  and  the  bourgeoisie; 
so,  delighted  with  a  chance  to  cut  out  the  Chevalier,  he  crooked 
his  arm,  and  Mile.  Cormon  was  obliged  to  take  it.  M.  de 
Valois,  from  motives  of  policy,  fastened  upon  Mme.  Granson. 

"Mile.  Cormon  takes  the  liveliest  interest  in  your  dear 
Athanase,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said,  as  they  slowly  followed  in 
the  wake  of  the  other  guests,  "but  that  interest  is  falling  off 
through  your  son's  fault.  He  is  lax  and  Liberal  in  his  opin- 
ions ;  he  is  agitating  for  this  theatre ;  he  is  mixed  up  with  the 
Bonapartists ;  he  takes  the  part  of  the  Constitutionnel  cure. 
This  line  of  conduct  may  cost  him  his  situation.  You  know 
how  carefully  his  Majesty's  government  is  weeding  the  service. 
If  your  dear  Athanase  is  once  cashiered,  where  will  he  find 
employment  ?  He  must  not  get  into  bad  odor  with  the  author- 
ities." 

"Oh,  M.  le  Chevalier,"  cried  the  poor  startled  mother,  "what 
do  I  not  owe  you  for  telling  me  this  !  You  are  right ;  my  boy 
is  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  a  bad  set ;  I  will  open  his  eyes  to  his 
position." 

It  was  long  since  the  Chevalier  had  sounded  Athanase's 
character  at  a  glance.  He  saw  in  the  depths  of  the  young 
man's  nature  the  scarcely  malleable  material  of  Kepublican 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  81 

convictions ;  a  lad  at  that  age  will  sacrifice  everything  for  such 
ideas  if  he  is  smitten  with  the  word  Liberty,  that  so  vague,  so 
little  comprehended  word  which  is  like  a  standard  of  revolt 
for  those  at  the  bottom  of  the  wheel  for  whom  revolt  means 
revenge.  Athanase  was  sure  to  stick  to  his  opinions,  for  he 
had  woven  them,  with  his  artist's  sorrows  and  his  embittered 
views  of  the  social  framework,  into  his  political  creed.  He 
was  ready  to  sacrifice  his  future  at  the  outset  for  these 
opinions,  not  knowing  that  he,  like  all  men  of  real  ability, 
would  have  seen  reason  to  modify  them  by  the  time  he  reached 
the  age  of  six-and-thirty,  when  a  man  has  formed  his  own 
conclusions  of  life,  with  its  intricate  relations  and  interde- 
pendences. If  Athanase  was  faithful  to  the  opposition  in 
Alengon,  he  would  fall  into  disgrace  with  Mile.  Cormon.  Thus 
far  the  Chevalier  saw  clearly. 

And  so  this  little  town,  so  peaceful  in  appearance,  was  to  the 
full  as  much  agitated  internally  as  any  congress  of  diplomates, 
when  craft  and  guile  and  passion  and  self-interest  are  met 
to  discuss  the  weightiest  questions  between  empire  and  em- 
pire. 

Meanwhile  the  guests  gathered  about  the  table  were  eating 
their  way  through  the  first  course  as  people  eat  in  the  prov- 
inces, without  a  blush  for  an  honest  appetite;  whereas,  in 
Paris,  it  would  appear  that  our  jaws  are  controlled  by  sump- 
tuary edicts  which  deliberately  set  the  laws  of  anatomy  at  de- 
fiance. We  eat  with  the  tips  of  our  teeth  in  Paris,  we  filch  the 
pleasures  of  the  table,  but  in  the  provinces  things  are  taken 
more  naturally;  possibly  existence  centres  a  little  too  much 
about  the  great  and  universal  method  of  maintenance  to  which 
God  condemns  all  his  creatures.  It  was  at  the  end  of  the  first 
course  that  Mile.  Cormon  brought  out  the  most  celebrated  of 
all  her  conversational  cues;  it  was  talked  of  for  two  years 
afterwards;  it  is  quoted  even  now,  indeed,  in  the  sub-bour- 
geois strata  of  Alengon  whenever  her  marriage  is  under  dis- 
cussion. Over  the  last  entree  but  one,  the  conversation  waxed 
lively  and  wordy,  turning,  as  might  have  been  expected,  upon 
the  affair  of  the  theatre  and  the  cure.  In  the  first  enthusiasm 


82  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

of  Eoyalism  in  1816,  those  extremists,  who  were  afterwards 
called  les  Jesuites  du  pays,  were  for  expelling  the  Abbe 
Frangois  from  his  cure.  M.  de  Valois  suspected  du  Bousquier 
of  supporting  the  priest  and  instigating  the  intrigues ;  at  any 
rate,  the  noble  Chevalier  piled  the  burdens  on  du  Bousquier's 
back  with  his  wonted  skill ;  and  du  Bousquier,  being  unrepre- 
sented by  counsel,  was  condemned  and  put  in  the  pillory. 
Among  those  present,  Athanase  was  the  only  person  sufficient- 
ly frank  to  stand  up  for  the  absent,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  not 
in  a  position  to  bring  out  his  ideas  before  these  Alengon  mag- 
nates, of  whose  intellects  he  had  the  meanest  opinion.  Only 
in  the  provinces  nowadays  will  you  find  young  men  keeping 
a  respectful  countenance  before  people  of  a  certain  age  with- 
out daring  to  have  a  fling  at  their  elders  or  to  contradict  them 
too  flatly.  To  resume.  On  the  advent  of  some  delicious  canards 
aux  olives,  the  conversation  first  decidedly  flagged,  and  then 
suddenly  dropped  dead.  Mile.  Cormon,  emulous  of  her  own 
poultry,  invented  another  canard  in  her  anxiety  to  defend  du 
Bousquier,  who  had  been  represented  as  an  arch-concocter  of 
intrigue,  and  a  man  to  set  mountains  fighting. 

"For  my  own  part,"  said  she,  "I  thought  that  M.  du  Bous- 
quier gave  his  whole  attention  to  childish  matters." 

Under  the  circumstances,  the  epigram  produced  a  tre- 
mendous effect.  Mile.  Cormon  had  a  great  success;  she 
brought  the  Princess  Goritza  face  downwards  on  the  table. 
The  Chevalier,  by  no  means  expecting  his  Dulcinea  to  say 
anything  so  much  to  the  purpose,  could  find  no  words  to  ex- 
, press  his  admiration;  he  applauded  after  the  Italian  fashion, 
noiselessly,  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

"She  is  adorably  witty/'  he  said,  turning  to  Mme.  Granson. 
"I  have  always  said  that  she  would  unmask  her  batteries  some 
day." 

"But  when  you  know  her  very  well,  she  is  charming,"  said 
the  widow. 

"All  women,  madame,  have  esprit  when  you  know  them 
well." 

When  the  Homeric  laughter  subsided,  Mile.  Cormon  asked 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  83 

for  an  explanation  of  her  success.  Then  the  chorus  of  scandal 
grew  to  a  height.  Du  Bousquier  was  transformed  into  a  bach- 
elor Pere  Gigogne;  it  was  he  who  filled  the  Foundling  Hos- 
pital ;  the  immorality  of  his  life  was  laid  bare  at  last ;  it  was 
all  of  a  piece  with  his  Paris  orgies,  and  so  forth  and  so  forth. 
Led  by  the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  the  cleverest  of  conductors 
of  this  kind  of  orchestra,  the  overture  was  something  mag- 
nificent. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  he,  with  much  indulgence,  "what 
there  could  possibly  be  to  prevent  a  du  Bousquier  from  mar- 
rying a  Mademoiselle  Suzanne  whatever-it-is — what  do  you 
call  her  ? — Suzette !  I  only  know  the  children  by  sight,  though 
I  lodge  with  Mme.  Lardot.  If  this  Suzon  is  a  tall,  fine-look- 
ing forward  sort  of  girl  with  gray  eyes,  a  slender  figure,  and 
little  feet — I  have  not  paid  much  attention  to  these  things, 
but  she  seemed  to  me  to  be  very  insolent  and  very  much 
du  Bousquier's  superior  in  the  matter  of  manners.  Besides, 
Suzanne  has  the  nobility  of  beauty ;  from  that  point  of  view, 
she  would  certainly  make  a  marriage  beneath  her.  The  Em- 
peror Joseph,  you  know,  had  the  curiosity  to  go  to  see  the  du 
Barry  at  Luciennes.  He  offered  her  his  arm;  and  when  the 
poor  courtesan,  overcome  by  such  an  honor,  hesitated  to  take 
it,  'Beauty  is  always  a  queen/  said  the  Emperor.  Remark  that 
the  Emperor  Joseph  was  an  Austrian  German,"  added  the 
Chevalier;  "but,  believe  me,  that  Germany,  which  we  think 
of  as  a  very  boorish  country,  is  really  a  land  of  noble  chivalry 
and  fine  manners,  especially  towards  Poland  and  Hungary, 

where  there  are "  Here  the  Chevalier  broke  off,  fearing 

to  make  an  allusion  to  his  own  happy  fortune  in  the  past; 
he  only  took  up  his  snuff-box  and  confided  the  rest  to  the 
Princess,  who  had  smiled  on  him  for  thirty-six  years. 

"The  speech  was  delicately  considerate  for  Louis  XV.,"  said 
du  Eonceret. 

"But  we  are  talking  of  the  Emperor  Joseph,  I  believe,"  re- 
turned Mile.  Cormon,  with  a  little  knowing  air. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  Chevalier,  seeing  the  wicked 
glances  exchanged  by  the  President,  the  registrar,  and  the 


84  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

notary,  "Mme.  du  Barry  was  Louis  Quinze's  Suzanne,  a  fact 
known  well  enough  to  us  scapegraces,  but  which  young  ladies 
are  not  expected  to  know.  Your  ignorance  shows  that  the 
diamond  is  flawless.  The  corruptions  of  history  have  not  so 
much  as  touched  you." 

At  this  the  Abbe  de  Sponde  looked  graciously  upon  M.  de 
Valois  and  bent  his  head  in  laudatory  approval. 

"Do  you  not  know  history,  mademoiselle,"  asked  the  regis- 
trar. 

"If  you  muddle  up  Louis  XV.  and  Suzanne,  how  can  you 
expect  me  to  know  your  history  ?"  was  Mile.  Cormon's  angelic 
reply.  She  was  so  pleased !  The  dish  was  empty  and  the  con- 
versation revived  to  such  purpose  that  everybody  was  laughing 
with  their  mouths  full  at  her  last  observation. 

"Poor  young  thing!"  said  the  Abbe  de  Sponde.  "When 
once  trouble  comes,  that  love  grown  divine  called  charity  is  as 
blind  as  the  pagan  love,  and  should  see  nothing  of  the  causes 
of  the  trouble.  You  are  President  of  the  Maternity  Society, 
Eose ;  this  child  will  need  help ;  it  will  not  be  easy  for  her  to 
find  a  husband." 

"Poor  child  !"  said  Mile.  Cormon. 

"Is  du  Bousquier  going  to  marry  her,  do  you  suppose?" 
asked  the  President  of  the  Tribunal. 

"It  would  be  his  duty  to  do  so  if  he  were  a  decent  man," 
said  Mme.  Granson;  "but,  really,  my  dog  has  better  notions 
of  decency — — " 

"And  yet  Azor  is  a  great  forager,"  put  in  the  registrar, 
trying  a  joke  this  time  as  a  change  from  a  pun. 

They  were  still  talking  of  du  Bousquier  over  the  dessert. 
He  was  the  butt  of  uncounted  playful  jests,  which  grew  more 
and  more  thunder-charged  under  the  influence  of  wine.  Led 
off  by  the  registrar,  they  followed  up  one  pun  with  another. 
Du  Bousquier's  character  was  now  ap-parent;  he  was  not  a 
father  of  the  church,  nor  a  reverend  father,  nor  yet  a  con- 
script father,  and  so  on  and  so  on,  till  the  Abbe  de  Sponde 
said,  "In  any  case,  he  is  not  a  foster-father,"  with  a  gravity 
that  checked  the  laughter. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  85 

"Nor  a  heavy  father,"  added  the  Chevalier. 

The  Church  and  the  aristocracy  had  descended  into  the 
arena  of  word-play  without  loss  of  dignity. 

"Hush!"  said  the  registrar,  "I  can  hear  du  Bousquier's 
boots  creaking;  he  is  in  over  shoes  over  boots,  and  no  mis- 
take." 

It  nearly  always  happens  that  when  a  man's  name  is  in 
every  one's  mouth,  he  is  the  last  to  hear  what  is  said  of  him ; 
the  whole  town  may  be  talking  of  him,  slandering  him  or  cry- 
ing him  down,  and  if  he  has  no  friends  to  repeat  what  other 
people  say  of  him,  he  is  not  likely  to  hear  it.  So  the  blame- 
less du  Bousquier,  du  Bousquier  who  would  fain  have  been 
guilty,  who  wished  that  Suzanne  had  not  lied  to  him,  was 
supremely  unconscious  of  all  that  was  taking  place.  Nobody 
had  spoken  to  him  of  Suzanne's  revelations;  for  that  matter, 
everybody  thought  it  indiscreet  to  ask  questions  about  the 
affair,  when  the  man  most  concerned  sometimes  possesses  se- 
crets which  compel  him  to  keep  silence.  So  when  people  ad- 
journed for  coffee  to  the  drawing-room,  where  several  evening 
visitors  were  already  assembled,  du  Bousquier  wore  an  irre- 
sistible and  slightly  fatuous  air. 

Mile.  Cormon,  counseled  by  confusion,  dared  not  look 
towards  the  terrible  seducer.  She  took  possession  of  Atha- 
nase  and  administered  a  lecture,  bringing  out  the  oddest  as- 
sortment of  the  commonplaces  of  Eoyalist  doctrines  and  edify- 
ing truisms.  As  the  unlucky  poet  had  no  snuff-box  with  a  por- 
trait of  a  princess  on  the  lid  to  sustain  him  under  the  shower- 
bath  of  foolish  utterances,  it  was  with  a  vacant  expression  that 
he  heard  his  adored  lady.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  that  enor- 
mous bust,  which  maintained  the  absolute  repose  character- 
istic of  great  masses.  Desire  wrought  a  kind  of  intoxication 
in  him.  The  old  maid's  thin,  shrill  voice  became  low  music 
for  his  ears ;  her  platitudes  were  fraught  with  ideas. 

Love  is  an  utterer  of  false  coin ;  he  is  always  at  work  trans- 
forming common  copper  into  gold  louis ;  sometimes,  also,  he 
makes  his  seeming  halfpence  of  fine  gold. 

"Well,  Athanase,  will  you  promise  me  ?" 


8C  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

The  final  phrase  struck  on  the  young  man's  ear;  he  woke 
with  a  start  from  a  blissful  dream. 

"What,  mademoiselle  ?"  returned  he. 

Mile.  Cormon  rose  abruptly  and  glanced  across  at  du  Bous- 
quier.  At  that  moment  he  looked  like  the  brawny  fabulous 
deity  whose  likeness  you  behold  upon  Kepublican  three-franc 
pieces.  She  went  over  to  Mme.  Granson  and  said  in  a  confi- 
dential tone: 

"Your  son  is  weak  in  his  intellect,  my  poor  friend.  That 
lyceum  has  been  the  ruin  of  him,"  she  added,  recollecting  how 
the  Chevalier  de  Valois  had  insisted  on  the  bad  education 
given  in  those  institutions. 

Here  was  a  thunderbolt !  Poor  Athanase  had  had  his 
chance  of  flinging  fire  upon  the  dried  stems  heaped  up  in  the 
old  maid's  heart,  and  he  had  not  known  it !  If  he  had  but 
listened  to  her,  he  might  have  made  her  understand;  for  in 
Mile.  Cormon's  present  highly-wrought  mood  a  word  would 
have  been  enough,  but  the  very  force  of  the  stupefying  crav- 
ings of  love-sick  youth  had  spoiled  his  chances ;  so  sometimes  a 
child  full  of  life  kills  himself  through  ignorance. 

"What  can  you  have  been  saying  to  Mile.  Cormon  ?"  asked 
his  mother. 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing? — I  will  have  this  cleared  up,"  she  said,  and 
put  off  serious  business  to  the  morrow;  du  Bousquier  was 
hopelessly  lost,  she  thought,  and  the  speech  troubled  her  very 
little. 

Soon  the  four  card-tables  received  their  complement  of 
players.  Four  persons  sat  down  to  piquet,  the  most  expensive 
amusement  of  the  evening,  over  which  a  good  deal  of  money 
changed  hands.  M.  Choisnel,  the  attorney  for  the  crown,  and 
a  couple  of  ladies  went  to  the  red-lacquered  cabinet  for  a  game 
of  tric-trac.  The  candles  in  the  wall-sconces  were  lighted, 
and  then  the  flower  of  Mile.  Cormon's  set  blossomed  out  about 
the  fire,  on  the  settees,  and  about  the  tables.  Each  new  couple, 
on  entering  the  room,  made  the  same  remark  to  Mile.  Gorman, 
"So  you  are  going  to  the  Prebaudet  to-morrow  ?" 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  87 

"Yes,  I  really  must,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  each. 

All  through  the  evening  the  hostess  wore  a  preoccupied  air. 
Mme.  Granson  was  the  first  to  see  that  she  was  not  at  all  like 
herself.  Mile.  Cormon  was  thinking. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  cousin?"  Mme.  Gran- 
son  asked  at  last,  finding  her  sitting  in  the  boudoir. 

"I  am  thinking  of  that  poor  girl.  Am  I  not  patroness  of 
the  Maternity  Society  ?  I  will  go  now  to  find  ten  crowns  for 
you." 

"Ten  crowns!"  exclaimed  Mme.  Granson.  "Why,  you  have 
never  given  so  much  to  any  one  before !" 

"But,  my  dear,  it  is  so  natural  to  have  a  child." 

This  improper  cry  from  the  heart  struck  the  treasurer  of 
the  Maternity  Society  dumb  from  sheer  astonishment.  Du 
Bousquier  had  actually  gone  up  in  Mile.  Cormon's  opinion ! 

"Eeally,"  began  Mme.  Granson,  "du  Bousquier  is  not 
merely  a  monster — he  is  a  villain  into  the  bargain.  When  a 
man  has  spoiled  somebody  else's  life,  it  is  his  duty  surely  to 
make  amends.  It  should  be  his  part  rather  than  ours  to  res- 
cue this  young  person;  and  when  all  comes  to  all,  she  is  a 
bad  girl,  it  seems  to  me,  for  there  are  better  men  in  Alengon 
than  that  cynic  of  a  du  Bousquier.  A  girl  must  be  shameless 
indeed  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him." 

"Cynic  ?  Your  son,  dear,  teaches  you  Latin  words  that  are 
quite  beyond  me.  Certainly  I  do  not  want  to  make  excuses 
for  M.  du  Bousquier;  but  explain  to  me  why  it  is  immoral 
for  a  woman  to  prefer  one  man  to  another  ?" 

"Dear  cousin,  suppose  now  that  you  were  to  marry  my 
Athanase ;  there  would  be  nothing  but  what  was  very  natural 
in  that.  He  is  young  and  good-looking ;  he  has  a  future  before 
him;  Alengon  will  be  proud  of  him  some  day.  But — every 
one  would  think  that  you  took  such  a  young  man  as  your 
husband  for  the  sake  of  greater  conjugal  felicity.  Slanderous 
tongues  would  say  that  you  were  making  a  sufficient  provision 
of  bliss  for  yourself.  There  would  be  jealous  women  to  bring 
charges  of  depravity  against  you.  But  what  would  it  matter 
to  you?  You  would  be  dearly  loved — loved  sincerely.  If 


88  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Athanase  seemed  to  you  to  be  weak  of  intellect,  my  dear,  it  is 
because  he  has  too  many  ideas.  Extremes  meet.  He  is  as  clean 
in  his  life  as  a  girl  of  fifteen ;  lie  has  not  wallowed  in  the  pol- 
lutions of  Paris.  .  .  .  Well,  now,  change  the  terms,  as 
my  poor  husband  used  to  say.  It  is  relatively  just  the  same 
situation  as  du  Bousquier's  and  Suzanne's.  But  what  would 
be  slander  in  your  case  is  true  in  every  way  of  du  Bousquier. 
Now  do  you  understand  ?" 

"No  more  than  if  you  were  talking  Greek,"  said  Eose 
Cormon,  opening  wide  eyes  and  exerting  all  the  powers  of  her 
understanding. 

"Well,  then,  cousin,  since  one  must  put  dots  on  all  the  i's, 
it  is  quite  out  of  the  question  that  Suzanne  should  love  du 
Bousquier.  And  when  the  heart  counts  for  nothing  in  such 
an  affair " 

"Why,  really,  cousin,  how  should  people  love  if  not  with 
their  hearts  ?" 

At  this  Mme.  Granson  thought  within  herself,  as  the  Cheva- 
lier had  thought : 

"The  poor  cousin  is  too  innocent  by  far.  This  goes  beyond 

the  permissible "  Aloud  she  said,  "Dear  girl,  it  seems  to 

me  that  a  child  is  not  conceived  of  spirit  alone." 

"Why,  yes,  dear,  for  the  Holy  Virgin " 

"But,  my  dear,  good  girl,  du  Bousquier  is  not  the  Holy 
Ghost." 

"That  is  true,"  returned  the  spinster ;  "he  is  a  man — a  man 
dangerous  enough  for  his  friends  to  recommend  him  strongly 
to  marry." 

"You,  cousin,  might  bring  that  about " 

"Oh,  how?"  cried  the  spinster,  with  a  glow  of  Christian 
charity. 

"Decline  to  receive  him  until  he  takes  a  wife.  For  the  sake 
of  religion  and  morality,  you  ought  to  make  an  example  of 
him  under  the  circumstances." 

"We  will  talk  of  this  again,  dear  Mme.  Granson,  when  I 
come  back  from  the  Prebaudet.  I  will  ask  advice  of  my  uncle 
and  the  Abbe  Couturier,"  and  Mile.  Cormon  went  back  to 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN      89 

the  large  drawing-room.  The  liveliest  hour  of  the  evening 
had  begun. 

The  lights,  the  groups  of  well-dressed  women,  the  serious 
and  magisterial  air  of  the  assembly,  filled  Mile.  Cormon  with 
pride  in  the  aristocratic  appearance  of  the  rooms,  a  pride  in 
which  her  guests  all  shared.  There  were  plenty  of  people  who 
thought  that  the  finest  company  of  Paris  itself  was  no  finer. 
At  that  moment  du  Bousquier,  playing  a  rubber  with  M.  de 
Valois  and  two  elderly  ladies,  Mme.  du  Coudrai  and  Mme.  du 
Eonceret,  was  the  object  of  suppressed  curiosity.  Several 
women  came  up  on  the  pretext  of  watching  the  game,  and 
gave  him  such  odd,  albeit  furtive,  glances  that  the  old  bach- 
elor at  last  began  to  think  that  there  must  be  something  amiss 
with  his  appearance. 

"Can  it  be  that  my  toupet  is  askew?"  he  asked  himself. 
And  he  felt  that  all-absorbing  uneasiness  to  which  the  elderly 
bachelor  is  peculiarly  subject.  A  blunder  gave  him  an  excuse 
for  leaving  the  table  at  the  end  of  the  seventh  rubber. 

"I  cannot  touch  a  card  but  I  lose,"  he  said ;  "I  am  decidedly 
too  unlucky  at  cards." 

"You  are  lucky  in  other  respects,"  said  the  Chevalier,  with 
a  knowing  look.  Naturally,  the  joke  made  the  round  of  the 
room,  and  every  one  exclaimed  over  the  exquisite  breeding 
shown  by  the  Prince  Talleyrand  of  Alengon. 

"There  is  no  one  like  M.  de  Valois  for  saying  such  things/5 
said  the  niece  of  the  cure  of  St.  Leonard's. 

Du  Bousquier  went  up  to  the  narrow  mirror  above  "The 
Deserter,"  but  he  could  detect  nothing  unusual. 

Towards  ten  o'clock,  after  innumerable  repetitions  of  the 
same  phrase  with  every  possible  variation,  the  long  ante- 
chamber began  to  fill  with  visitors  preparing  to  embark ;  Mile. 
Cormon  convoying  a  few  favored  guests  as  far  as  the  perron 
for  a  farewell  embrace.  Knots  of  guests  took  their  departure, 
some  in  the  direction  of  the  Brittany  road  and  the  chateau, 
and  others  turning  toward  the  quarter  by  the  Sarthe.  And 
then  began  the  exchange  of  remarks  with  which  the  streets 
had  echoed  at  the  same  hour  for  a  score  of  years.  There  was 
the  inevitable,  "Mile.  Cormon  looked  very  well  this  evening/' 


90  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"Mile.  Cormon?    She  looked  strange,  I  thought." 

"How  the  Abbe  stoops,  poor  man !  And  how  he  goes  to 
sleep — did  you  see?  He  never  knows  where  the  cards  are 
now ;  his  mind  wanders." 

"We  shall  be  very  sorry  to  lose  him." 

"It  is  a  fine  night.    We  shall  have  a  fine  day  to-morrow." 

"Fine  weather  for  the  apples  to  set." 

"You  beat  us  to-night;  you  always  do  when  M.  de  Valois 
is  your  partner." 

"Then  how  much  did  he  win  ?" 

"To-night?  Why,  he  won  three  or  four  francs.  He  never 
loses." 

"Faith,  no.  There  are  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in 
the  year,  you  know ;  at  that  rate,  whist  is  as  good  as  a  farm 
for  him." 

"Oh !  what  bad  luck  we  had  to-night !" 

"You  are  very  fortunate,  monsieur  and  madame,  here  you 
are  at  your  own  doorstep,  while  we  have  half  the  town  to 
cross." 

"I  do  not  pity  you ;  you  could  keep  a  carriage  if  you  liked, 
you  need  not  go  afoot." 

"Ah!  monsieur,  we  have  a  daughter  to  marry  (that  means 
one  wheel),  and  a  son  to  keep  in  Paris,  and  that  takes  the 
other." 

"Are  you  still  determined  to  make  a  magistrate  of  him  ?" 

"What  can  one  do?  You  must  do  something  with  a  boy, 
and  besides,  it  is  no  disgrace  to  serve  the  King." 

Sometimes  a  discussion  on  cider  or  flax  was  continued  on 
the  way,  the  very  same  things  being  said  at  the  same  season 
year  after  year.  If  any  observer  of  human  nature  had  lived 
in  that  particular  street,  their  conversation  would  have  sup- 
plied him  with  an  almanac.  At  this  moment,  however,  the 
talk  was  of  a  decidedly  Babelaisian  turn;  for  du  Bousquier, 
walking  on  ahead  by  himself,  was  humming  the  well-known 
tune  "Femme  sensible,  entends-tu  le  ramage?"  without  a  sus- 
picion of  its  appropriateness.  Some  of  the  party  held  that  du 
Bousquier  was  uncommonly  long-headed,  and  that  people 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  91 

judged  him  unjustly.  President  du  Eonceret  inclined  towards 
this  view  since  he  had  been  confirmed  in  his  post  by  a  new 
royal  decree.  The  rest  regarded  the  forage-contractor  as  a 
dangerous  man  of  lax  morals,  of  whom  anything  might  be  ex- 
pected. In  the  provinces,  as  in  Paris,  public  men  are  very 
much  in  the  position  of  the  statue  in  Addison's  ingenious 
fable.  The  statue  was  erected  at  a  place  where  four  roads 
met ;  two  cavaliers  coming  up  on  opposite  sides  declared,  the 
one  that  it  was  white,  the  other  that  it  was  black,  until  they 
came  to  blows,  and  both  of  them  lying  on  the  ground  discov- 
ered that  it  was  black  on  one  side  and  white  on  the  other, 
while  a  third  cavalier  coming  up  to  their  assistance  affirmed 
that  it  was  red. 

When  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  reached  home,  he  said  to 
himself:  "It  is  time  to  spread  a  report  that  I  am  going  to 
marry  Mile.  Cormon.  The  news  shall  come  from  the  d'Es- 
grignon's  salon;  it  shall  go  straight  to  the  Bishop's  palace  at 
Seez  and  come  back  through  one  of  the  vicars-general  to  the 
cure  of  St.  Leonard's.  He  will  not  fail  to  tell  the  Abbe 
Couturier,  and  in  this  way  Mile.  Cormon  will  receive  the  shot 
well  under  the  water-line.  The  old  Marquis  d'Esgrignon  is 
sure  to  ask  the  Abbe  de  Sponde  to  dinner  to  put  a  stop  to  gos- 
sip which  might  injure  Mile.  Cormon  if  I  fail  to  come  for- 
ward ;  or  me,  if  she  refuses  me.  The  Abbe  shall  be  well  and 
duly  entangled;  and  after  a  call  from  Mile,  de  Gordes,  in 
the  course  of  which  the  grandeur  and  the  prospects  of  the  alli- 
ance will  be  put  before  Mile.  Cormon,  she  is  not  likely  to  hold 
out.  The  Abbe  will  leave  her  more  than  a  hundred  thousand 
crowns;  and  as  for  her,  she  must  have  put  by  more  than  a 
hundred  thousand  livres  by  this  time ;  she  has  her  house,  the 
Prebaudet,  and  some  fifteen  thousand  livres  per  annum.  One 
word  to  my  friend  the  Comte  de  Fontaine,  and  I  am  Mayor 
of  Alengon,  and  deputy;  then,  once  seated  on  the  right-hand 
benches,  the  way  to  a  peerage  is  cleared  by  a  well-timed  cry 
of  'Cloture/ or 'Order.'" 

When  Mme.  Granson  reached  home,  she  had  a  warm  ex- 
planation with  her  son.  He  could  not  be  made  to  understand 


92  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

the  connection  between  his  political  opinions  and  his  love. 
It  was  the  first  quarrel  which  had  troubled  the  peace  of  the 
poor  little  household. 

Next  morning,  at  nine  o'clock,  Mile.  Cormon,  packed  into 
the  cariole  with  Josette  by  her  side,  drove  up  the  Rue  Saint  - 
Blaise  on  her  way  to  the  Prebaudet,  looking  like  a  pyramid 
above  an  ocean  of  packages.  And  the  event  which  was  to 
surprise  her  there  and  hasten  on  her  marriage  was  unseen  as 
yet  by  Mme.  Granson,  or  du  Bousquier,  or  M.  de  Yalois,  or  by 
Mile.  Cormon  herself.  Chance  is  the  greatest  artist  of  all. 

On  the  morrow  of  mademoiselle's  arrival  at  the  Prebaudet, 
she  was  very  harmlessly  engaged  in  taking  her  eight  o'clock 
breakfast,  while  she  listened  to  the  reports  of  her  bailiff  and 
gardener,  when  Jacquelin,  in  a  great  flurry,  burst  into  the 
dining-room. 

"Mademoiselle,"  cried  he,  "M.  1'Abbe  has  sent  an  express 
messenger  to  you;  that  boy  of  Mother  Grosmort's  has  come 
with  a  letter.  The  lad  left  Alengon  before  daybreak,  and  yet 
here  he  is !  He  came  almost  as  fast  as  Penelope.  Ought  he 
to  have  a  glass  of  wine  ?" 

"What  can  have  happened,  Josette  ?    Can  uncle  be " 

"He  would  not  have  written  if  he  was,"  said  the  woman, 
guessing  her  mistress'  fears. 

Mile.  Cormon  glanced  over  the  first  few  lines. 

"Quick !  quick !"  she  cried.  "Tell  Jacquelin  to  put  Penel- 
ope in. — Get  ready,  child,  have  everything  packed  in  half  an 
hour,  we  are  going  back  to  town/'  she  added,  turning  to 
Josette. 

"Jacquelin !"  called  Josette,  excited  by  the  expression  of 
Mile.  Cormon's  face.  Jacquelin  on  receiving  his  orders  came 
back  to  the  house  to  expostulate. 

"But,  mademoiselle,  Penelope  has  only  just  been  fed." 

"Eh !  what  does  that  matter  to  me  ?  I  want  to  start  this 
moment." 

"But,  mademoiselle,  it  is  going  to  rain." 

"Very  well.    We  shall  be  wet  through." 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  93 

"The  house  is  on  fire,"  muttered  Josette,  vexed  because  her 
mistress  said  nothing,  but  read  her  letter  through  to  the  end, 
and  then  began  again  at  the  beginning. 

"Just  finish  your  coffee  at  any  rate.  Don't  upset  yourself ! 
See  how  red  you  are  in  the  face." 

"Red  in  the  face,  Josette !"  exclaimed  Mile.  Cormon,  going 
up  to  the  mirror;  and  as  the  quick-silvered  sheet  had  come 
away  from  the  glass,  she  beheld  her  countenance  doubly  dis- 
torted. "Oh,  dear !"  she  thought,  "I  shall  look  ugly ! — Come, 
come,  Josette,  child,  help  me  to  dress.  I  want  to  be  ready  be- 
fore Jacquelin  puts  Penelope  in.  If  you  cannot  put  all  the 
things  into  the  chaise,  I  would  rather  leave  them  here  than 
lose  a  minute." 

If  you  have  fully  comprehended  the  degree  of  monomania 
to  which  Mile.  Cormon  had  been  driven  by  her  desire  to  marry, 
you  will  share  her  excitement.  Her  worthy  uncle  informed 
her  that  M.  de  Troisville,  a  retired  soldier  from  the  Eussian 
service,  the  grandson  of  one  of  his  best  friends,  wishing  to 
settle  down  in  Alengon,  had  asked  for  his  hospitality  for  the 
sake  of  the  Abbe's  old  friendship  with  the  mayor,  his  grand- 
father, the  Vicomte  de  Troisville  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XV. 
M.  de  Sponde,  in  alarm,  begged  his  niece  to  come  home  at 
once  to  help  him  to  entertain  the  guest  and  to  do  the  honors 
of  the  house ;  for  as  there  had  been  some  delay  in  forwarding 
the  letter,  M.  de  Troisville  might  be  expected  to  drop  in  upon 
him  that  very  evening. 

How  was  it  possible  after  reading  that  letter  to  give  any 
attention  to  affairs  at  the  Prebaudet?  The  tenant  and  the 
bailiff,  beholding  their  mistress'  dismay,  lay  low  and  waited 
for  orders.  When  they  stopped  her  passage  to  ask  for  in- 
structions, Mile.  Cormon,  the  despotic  old  maid,  who  saw 
to  everything  herself  at  the  Prebaudet,  answered  them  with  an 
"As  you  please,"  which  struck  them  dumb  with  amazement. 
This  was  the  mistress  who  carried  administrative  zeal  to  such 
lengths  that  she  counted  the  fruit  and  entered  it  under  head- 
ings, so  that  she  could  regulate  the  consumption  by  the  quan- 
tity of  each  sort ! 


94  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"I  must  be  dreaming,  I  think,"  said  Josette,  when  she  saw 
her  mistress  flying  upstairs  like  some  elephant  on  which  God 
should  have  bestowed  wings. 

In  a  little  while,  in  spite  of  the  pelting  rain,  mademoiselle 
was  driving  away  from  the  Prebaudet,  leaving  her  people  to 
have  things  all  their  own  way.  Jacquelin  dared  not  take  it 
upon  himself  to  drive  the  placid  Penelope  any  faster  than  her 
usual  jog-trot  pace ;  and  the  old  mare,  something  like  the  fair 
queen  after  whom  she  was  named,  seemed  to  take  a  step  back 
for  every  step  forward.  Beholding  this,  mademoiselle  bade 
Jacquelin,  in  a  vinegar  voice,  to  urge  the  poor  astonished 
beast  to  a  gallop,  and  to  use  the  whip  if  necessary,  so  ap- 
palling was  the  thought  that  M.  de  Troisville  might  arrive  be- 
fore the  house  was  ready  for  him.  A  grandson  of  an  old 
friend  of  her  uncle's  could  not  be  much  over  forty,  she 
thought ;  a  military  man  must  infallibly  be  a  bachelor.  She 
vowed  inwardly  that,  with  her  uncle's  help,  M.  de  Troisville 
should  not  depart  in  the  estate  in  which  he  entered  the 
Maison  Cormon.  Penelope  galloped;  but  mademoiselle, 
absorbed  in  dresses  and  dreams  of  a  wedding  night,  told 
Jacquelin  again  and  again  that  he  was  standing  still.  She 
fidgeted  in  her  seat,  without  vouchsafing  any  answer  to 
Josette's  questions,  and  talked  to  herself  as  if  she  were  re- 
volving mighty  matters  in  her  mind. 

At  last  the  cariole  turned  into  the  long  street  of  Alengon, 
known  as  the  Eue  Saint-Blaise  if  you  come  in  on  the  side 
of  Mortagne,  the  Rue  de  la  Porte  de  Seez  by  the  time  you 
reach  the  sign  of  the  Three  Moors,  and  lastly  as  the  Eue  du 
Bercail,  when  it  finally  debouches  into  the  highroad  into 
Brittany.  If  Mile.  Cormon's  departure  for  the  Prebaudet 
made  a  great  noise  in  Alengon,  anybody  can  imagine  the 
hubbub  caused  by  her  return  on  the  following  day,  with  the 
driving  rain  lashing  her  face.  Everybody  remarked 
Penelope's  furious  pace,  Jacquelin's  sly  looks,  the  earliness 
of  the  hour,  the  bundles  piled  up  topsy-turvy,  the  lively  con- 
versation between  mistress  and  maid,  and,  more  than  all 
things,  the  impatience  of  the  party. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  95 

The  Troisville  estates  lay  between  Alengon  and  Mortagne. 
Josette,  therefore,  knew  about  the  different  branches  of  the 
family.  A  word  let  fall  by  her  mistress  just  as  they  reached 
the  pave  of  Alengon  put  Josette  in  possession  of  the  facts, 
and  a  discussion  sprang  up,  in  the  course  of  which  the  two 
women  settled  between  themselves  that  the  enpoct'd  guest 
must  be  a  man  of  forty  or  forty-two,  a  bachelor,  neither  rich 
nor  poor.  Mademoiselle  saw  herself  Vicomtesse  de  Trois- 
ville. 

"And  here  is  uncle  telling  me  nothing,  knowing  nothing, 
and  wanting  to  know  nothing !  Oh,  so  like  uncle !  He  would 
forget  his  nose  if  it  was  not  fastened  to  his  face." 

Have  you  not  noticed  how  mature  spinsters,  under  these 
circumstances,  grow  as  intelligent,  fierce,  bold,  and  full  of 
promises  as  a  Richard  III.  ?  To  them,  as  to  clerics  in  liquor, 
nothing  is  sacred. 

In  one  moment,  from  the  upper  end  of  the  Rue  Saint-Blaise 
to  the  Porte  de  Seez,  the  town  of  Alengon  heard  of  Mile. 
Cormon's  return  with  aggravating  circumstances,  heard  with 
a  mighty  perturbation  of  its  vitals  and  trouble  of  the  organs 
of  life  public  and  domestic.  Cook-maids,  shopkeepers,  and 
passers-by  carried  the  news  from  door  to  door ;  then,  without 
delay,  it  circulated  in  the  upper  spheres,  and  almost  simulta- 
neously the  words,  "Mile.  Cormon  has  come  back,"  exploded 
like  a  bomb  in  every  house. 

Meanwhile  Jacquelin  climbed  down  from  his  wooden  bench 
in  front,  polished  by  some  process  unknown  to  cabinet-makers, 
and  with  his  own  hands  opened  the  great  gates  with  the 
rounded  tops.  They  were  closed  in  Mile.  Cormon's  absence 
as  a  sign  of  mourning;  for  when  she  went  away  her  house 
was  shut  up,  and  the  faithful  took  it  in  turn  to  show 
hospitality  to  the  Abbe  de  Sponde.  (M.  de  Yalois  used  to 
pay  his  debt  by  an  invitation  to  dine  at  the  Marquis 
d'Esgrignon's. )  Jacquelin  gave  the  familiar  call  to  Penelope 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road;  and  the  animal,  ac- 
customed to  this  manosuvre,  turned  into  the  courtyard,  steer- 
ing clear  of  the  flower-bed,  till  Jacquelin  took  the  bridle  and 
VOL.  7 — 29 


96  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

walked  round  with  the  chaise  to  the  steps  before  the 
door. 

"Mariette!"  called  Mile.  Cormon. 

"Mademoiselle?"  returned  Mariette,  engaged  in  shutting 
the  gates. 

"Has  the  gentleman  come?" 

"No,  mademoiselle." 

"And  is  my  uncle  here?" 

"He  is  at  the  church,  mademoiselle/' 

Jacquelin  and  Josette  were  standing  on  the  lowest  step  of 
the  flight,  holding  out  their  hands  to  steady  their  mistress' 
descent  from  the  cariole;  she,  meanwhile,  had  hoisted  herself 
upon  the  shaft,  and  was  clutching  at  the  curtains,  before 
springing  down  into  their  arms.  It  was  two  years  since 
she  had  dared  to  trust  herself  upon  the  iron  step  of  double 
strength,  secured  to  the  shaft  by  a  fearfully  made  contriv- 
ance with  huge  bolts. 

From  the  height  of  the  steps,  mademoiselle  surveyed  her 
courtyard  with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 

"There,  there,  Mariette,  let  the  great  gate  alone  and  come 
here." 

"There  is  something  up,"  Jacquelin  said  to  Mariette  as  she 
came  past  the  chaise. 

"Let  us  see  now,  child,  what  is  there  in  the  house?"  said 
Mile.  Cormon,  collapsing  on  the  bench  in  the  long  ante- 
chamber as  if  she  were  exhausted. 

"Just  nothing  at  all,"  replied  Mariette,  hands  on  hips. 
"Mademoiselle  knows  quite  well  that  M.  1'Abbe  always  dines 
out  when  she  is  not  at  home;  yesterday  I  went  to  bring  him 
back  from  Mile.  Armande's." 

"Then  where  is  he?" 

"M.  1'Abbe?  He  is  gone  to  church;  he  will  not  be  back 
till  three  o'clock." 

"Uncle  thinks  of  nothing!  Why  couldn't  he  have  sent 
you  to  market  ?  Go  down  now,  Mariette,  and,  without  throw- 
ing money  away,  spare  for  nothing,  get  the  best,  finest,  and 
daintiest  of  everything.  Go  to  the  coach  office  and  ask  where 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  97 

people  send  orders  for  pates.  And  I  want  cray-fish  from  the 
brooks  along  the  Brillante.  What  time  is  it  ?" 

"Nine  o'clock  all  but  a  quarter." 

"Oh  dear,  oh  dear;  don't  lose  any  time  in  chattering, 
Mariette.  The  visitor  my  uncle  is  expecting  may  come  at  any 
moment;  pretty  figures  we  should  cut  if  he  comes  to  break- 
fast." 

Mariette,  turning  round,  saw  Penelope  in  a  lather,  and 
gave  Jacquelin  a  glance  which  said,  "Mademoiselle  means  to 
put  her  hand  on  a  husband  this  time." 

Mile.  Cormon  turned  to  her  housemaid.  "Now,  it  is  our 
turn,  Josette;  we  must  make  arrangements  for  M.  de  Trois- 
ville  to  sleep  here  to-night." 

How  gladly  those  words  were  uttered !  "We  must  arrange 
for  M.  de  Troisville"  (pronounced  Treville)  "to  sleep  here 
to-night !"  How  much  lay  in  those  few  words !  Hope 
poured  like  a  flood  through  the  old  maid's  soul. 

"Will  you  put  him  in  the  green  chamber?" 

"The  Bishop's  room?  No,"  said  mademoiselle,  "it  is  too 
near  mine.  It  is  very  well  for  his  Lordship,  a  holy  man." 

"Give  him  your  uncle's  room."  . 

"It  looks  so  bare ;  it  would  not  do." 

"Lord,  mademoiselle,  you  could  have  a  bed  put  up  in  the 
boudoir  in  a  brace  of  shakes;  there  is  a  fireplace  there. 
Moreau  will  be  sure  to  find  a  bedstead  in  his  warehouse  that 
will  match  the  hangings  as  nearly  as  possible." 

"You  are  right,  Josette.  Very  well ;  run  round  to  Moreau's 
and  ask  his  advice  about  everything  necessary;  I  give  you 
authority.  If  the  bed,  M.  de  Troisville's  bed,  can  be  set  up  by 
this  evening,  so  that  M.  de  Troisville  shall  notice  nothing, 
supposing  that  M.  de  Troisville  should  happen  to  come  in 
while  Moreau  is  here,  I  am  quite  willing.  If  Moreau  can« 
not  promise  that,  M.  de  Troisville  shall  sleep  in  the  green 
chamber,  although  M.  de  Troisville  will  be  very  near  me." 

Josette  departed ;  her  mistress  called  her  back. 

"Tell  Jacquelin  all  about  it,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  stern  and 
awful  voice;  "let  him  go  to  Moreau.  How  about  my  dress? 


98  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Suppose  M.  de  Troisville  came  and  caught  me  like  this,  with- 
out uncle  here  to  receive  him! — Oh,  uncle!  uncle! — Come 
Josette,  you  shall  help  me  to  dress." 

"But  how  about  Penelope  ?"  the  woman  began  imprudently. 
Mile.  Cormon's  eyes  shot  sparks  for  the  first  and  last  time  in 
her  life. 

"It  is  always  Penelope!  Penelope  this,  Penelope  that! 
Is  Penelope  mistress  here?" 

"She  is  all  of  a  lather,  and  she  has  not  been  fed." 

"Eh !  and  if  she  dies,  let  her  die  ! "  cried  Mile.  Cormon 

— "so  long  as  I  am  married,"  she  added  in  her  own  mind. 

Josette  stood  stockstill  a  moment  in  amazement,  such  a 
remark  was  tantamount  to  murder;  then,  at  a  sign  from  her 
mistress,  she  dashed  headlong  down  the  steps  into  the  yard. 

"Mademoiselle  is  possessed,  Jacquelin !"  were  Josette's  first 
words. 

And  in  this  way,  everything  that  occurred  throughout  the 
day  led  up  to  the  great  climax  which  was  to  change  the  whole 
course  of  Mile.  Cormon's  life.  The  town  was  already  turned 
upside  down  by  five  aggravating  circumstances  which  at- 
tended the  lady's  sudden  return,  to  wit — the  pouring  rain; 
Penelope's  panting  pace  and  sunk  flanks  covered  with  foam; 
the  earliness  of  the  hour;  the  untidy  bundles;  and  the 
spinster's  strange,  sacred  looks.  But  when  Mariette  invaded 
the  market  to  carry  off  everything  that  she  could  lay  her 
hands  on;  when  Jacquelin  went  to  inquire  for  a  bedstead  of 
the  principal  upholsterer  in  the  Eue  Porte  de  Seez,  close  by 
the  church ;  here,  indeed,  was  material  on  which  to  build  the 
gravest  conjecture !  The  strange  event  was  discussed  on  the 
Parade  and  the  Promenade ;  every  one  was  full  of  it,  not  ex- 
cepting Mile.  Armande.,  on  whom  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  hap- 
pened to  be  calling  at  the  time. 

Only  two  days  ago  Alengon  had  been  stirred  to  its  depths 
by  occurrences  of  such  capital  importance,  that  worthy 
matrons  were  still  exclaiming  that  it  was  like  the  end  of  the 
world !  And  now,  this  last  news  was  summed  up  in  all  houses 
by  the  inquiry,  "What  can  be  happening  at  the  Cormons'  ?" 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  99 

The  Abbe  de  Sponde,  skilfully  questioned  when  he  emerged 
from  St.  Leonard's  to  take  a  walk  with  the  Abbe  Couturier 
along  the  Parade,  made  reply  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart, 
to  the  effect  that  he  expected  a  visit  from  the  Vicomte  de 
Troisville,  who  had  been  in  the  Kussian  service  during  the 
Emigration,  and  now  was  coming  back  to  settle  in  Alengon. 
A  kind  of  labial  telegraph,  at  work  that  afternoon  between 
two  and  five  o'clock,  informed  all  the  inhabitants  of  Alengon 
that  Mile.  Cormon  at  last  had  found  herself  a  husband  by 
advertisement.  She  was  going  to  marry  the  Vicomte  de 
Troisville.  Some  said  that  "Moreau  was  at  work  on  a  bed- 
stead already."  In  some  places  the  bed  was  six  feet  long. 
It  was  only  four  feet  at  Mme.  Granson's  house  in  the  Rue  du 
Bercail.  At  President  du  Ronceret's,  where  du  Bousquier 
was  dining,  it  dwindled  into  a  sofa.  The  tradespeople  said 
that  it  cost  eleven  hundred  francs.  It  was  generally  thought 
that  this  was  like  counting  your  chickens  before  they  were 
hatched. 

Further  away,  it  was  said  that  the  price  of  carp  had  gone 
up.  Mariette  had  swooped  down  upon  the  market  and 
created  a  general  scarcity.  Penelope  had  dropped  down  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  Rue  Saint-Blaise ;  the  death  was  called 
in  question  at  the  receiver-general's ;  nevertheless  at  the  pre- 
fecture it  was  known  for  a  fact  that  the  animal  fell  dead 
just  as  she  turned  in  at  the  gate  of  the  Hotel  Cormon,  so 
swiftly  had  the  old  maid  come  down  upon  her  prey.  The 
saddler  "at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Seez,  in  his  anxiety  to 
know  the  truth  about  Penelope,  was  hardy  enough  to  call  in 
to  ask  if  anything  had  happened  to  Mile.  Cormon's  chaise. 
Then  from  the  utmost  end  of  the  Rue  Saint-Blaise,  to  the 
furthermost  parts  of  the  Rue  du  Bercail,  it  was  known  that, 
thanks  to  Jacquelin's  care,  Penelope,  dumb  victim  of  her 
mistress'  intemperate  haste,  was  still  alive,  but  she  seemed 
to  be  in  a  bad  way. 

All  along  the  Brittany  road  the  Vicomte  de  Troisville  was 
a  penniless  jrounger  son,  for  the  domains  of  Perche  belonged 
to  the  Marquis  of  that  ilk,  a  peer  of  France  with  two  children. 


100  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

The  match  was  a  lucky  thing  for  an  impoverished  emigre; 
as  for  the  Vicomte  himself,  that  was  Mile.  Cormon's  affair. 
Altogether  the  match  received  the  approval  of  the  aristocratic 
section  on  the  Brittany  road;  Mile.  Cormon  could  not  have 
put  her  fortune  to  a  better  use. 

Among  the  bourgeoisie,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Vicomte  de 
Troisville  was  a  Eussian  general  that  had  borne  arms  against 
France.  He  was  bringing  back  a  large  fortune  made  at  the 
court  of  St.  Petersburg.  He  was  a  "foreigner,"  one  of  the 
"Allies"  detested  by  the  Liberals.  The  Abbe  de  Sponde  had 
manoeuvred  the  match  on  the  sly.  Every  person  who  had 
any  shadow  of  a  right  of  entrance  to  Mile.  Cormon's  drawing- 
room  vowed  to  be  there  that  night. 

While  the  excitement  went  through  the  town,  and  all  but 
put  Suzanne  out  of  people's  heads,  Mile.  Cormon  herself  was 
not  less  excited;  she  felt  as  she  had  never  felt  before.  She 
looked  round  the  drawing-room,  the  boudoir,  the  cabinet,  the 
dining-room,  and  a  dreadful  apprehension  seized  upon  her. 
Some  mocking  demon  seemed  to  show  her  the  old-fashioned 
splendor  in  a  new  light ;  the  beautiful  furniture,  admired  ever 
since  she  was  a  child,  was  suspected,  nay,  convicted,  of  being 
out  of  date.  She  was  shaken,  in  fact,  by  the  dread  that 
catches  almost  every  author  by  the  throat  when  he  begins  to 
read  his  own  work  aloud  to  some  exigent  or  jaded  critic.  Be- 
fore he  began,  it  was  perfect  in  his  eyes ;  now  the  novel  situa- 
tions are  stale;  the  finest  periods  turned  with  such  secret 
relish  are  turgid  or  halting;  the  metaphors  are  mixed  or 
grotesque ;  his  sins  stare  him  in  the  face.  Even  so,  poor  Mile. 
Cormon  shivered  to  think  of  the  smile  on  M.  de  Troisville's 
lips  when  he  looked  round  that  salon,  which  looked  like  a 
Bishop's  drawing-room,  unchanged  for  one  possessor  after 
another.  She  dreaded  his  cool  survey  of  the  ancient  dining- 
room  ;  in  short,  she  was  afraid  that  the  picture  might  look  the 
older  for  the  ancient  frame.  How  if  all  these  old  things 
should  tinge  her  with  their  age?  The  bare  thought  of  it 
made  her  flesh  creep.  At  that  moment  she  would  have  given 
one-fourth  of  her  savings  for  the  power  of  renovating  her 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  101 

house  at  a  stroke  of  a  magic  wand.  Where  is  the  general  so 
conceited  that  he  will  not  shudder  on  the  eve  of  an  action? 
She,  poor  thing,  was  between  an  Austerlitz  and  a  Water- 
loo. 

"Mme.  la  Vicomtesse  de  Troisville,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"what  a  fine  name !  Our  estates  will  pass  to  a  good  house, 
at  any  rate." 

Her  excitement  fretted  her.  It  sent  a  thrill  through  every 
fibre  of  every  nerve  to  the  least  of  the  ramifications  and  the 
papilla3  so  well  wadded  with  flesh.  Hope  tingling  in  her 
veins  set  all  the  blood  in  her  body  in  circulation.  She  felt 
capable,  if  need  was,  of  conversing  with  M.  de  TTrois- 
ville. 

Of  the  activity  with  which  Josette,  Mariette,  Jacquelin, 
Moreau,  and  his  assistants  set  about  their  work,  it  is  needless 
to  speak.  Ants  rescuing  their  eggs  could  not  have  been  busier 
than  they.  Everything,  kept  so  neat  and  clean  with  daily 
care,  was  starched  and  ironed,  scrubbed,  washed,  and  polished. 
The  best  china  saw  the  light.  Linen  damask  cloths  and 
serviettes  docketed  A  B  C  D  emerged  from  the  depths  where 
they  lay  shrouded  in  triple  wrappings  and  defended  by 
bristling  rows  of  pins.  The  rarest  shelves  of  that  oak-bound 
library  were  made  to  give  account  of  their  contents;  and 
finally,  mademoiselle  offered  up  three  bottles  of  liqueurs  to 
the  coming  guest,  three  bottles  bearing  the  label  of  the  most 
famous  distiller  of  oversea — Mme.  Amphoux,  name  dear  to 
connoisseurs. 

Mile.  Cormon  was  ready  for  battle,  thanks  to  the  devo- 
tion of  her  lieutenants.  The  munitions  of  war,  the  heavy 
artillery  of  the  kitchen,  the  batteries  of  the  pantry,  the 
victuals,  provisions  for  the  attack,  and  body  of  reserves,  had 
all  been  brought  up  in  array.  Orders  were  issued  to  Jacque- 
lin, Mariette,  and  Josette  to  wear  their  best  clothes.  The 
garden  was  raked  over.  Mademoiselle  only  regretted  that 
she  could  not  come  to  an  understanding  with  the  night- 
ingales in  the  trees,  that  they  might  warble  their  sweetest 
songs  for  the  occasion.  At  length,  at  four  o'clock,  just  as 


102  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

the  Abbe  came  in,  and  mademoiselle  was  beginning  to  think 
that  she  had  brought  out  her  daintiest  linen  and  china  and 
made  ready  the  most  exquisite  of  dinners  in  vain,  the  crack 
of  a  postilion's  whip  sounded  outside  in  the  Val-Noble. 

"It  is  lie  !"  she  thought,  and  the  lash  of  the  whip  struck  her 
in  the  heart. 

And  indeed,  heralded  by  all  this  tittle-tattle,  a  certain  post- 
chaise,  with  a  single  gentleman  inside  it,  had  made  such  a 
prodigious  sensation  as  it  drove  down  the  Rue  Saint-Blaise 
and  turned  into  the  Eue  du  Cours,  that  several  small  urchins 
and  older  persons  gave  chase  to  the  vehicle,  and  now  were 
standing  in  a  group  about  the  gateway  of  the  Hotel  Cormon 
to  watch  the  postilion  drive  in.  Jacquelin,  feeling  that  his 
own  marriage  was  in  the  wind,  had  also  heard  the  crack  of 
the  whip,  and  was  out  in  the  yard  to  throw  open  the  gates. 
The  postilion  (an  acquaintance)  was  on  his  mettle,  he  turned 
the  corner  to  admiration,  and  came  to  a  stand  before  the 
flight  of  steps.  And,  as  you  can  understand,  he  did  not  go 
until  Jacquelin  had  duly  and  properly  made  him  tipsy. 

The  Abbe  came  out  to  meet  his  guest,  and  in  a  trice  the 
chaise  was  despoiled  of  its  occupant,  robbers  in  a  hurry  could 
not  have  done  their  work  more  nimbly;  then  the  chaise  was 
put  into  the  coach-house,  the  great  door  was  closed,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  there  was  not  a  sign  of  M;  de  Troisville's  ar- 
rival. Never  did  two  chemicals  combine  with  a  greater  alac- 
rity than  that  displayed  by  the  house  of  Cormon  to  absorb  the 
Vicomte  de  Troisville.  As  for  mademoiselle,  if  she  had  been 
a  lizard  caught  by  a  shepherd,  her  heart  could  not  have  beat 
faster.  She  sat  heroically  in  her  low  chair  by  the  fireside; 
Josette  threw  open  the  door,  and  the  Vicomte  de  Troisville, 
followed  by  the  Abbe  de  Sponde,  appeared  before  her. 

"This  is  M.  le  Vicomte  de  Troisville,  niece,  a  grandson  of 
an  old  school-fellow  of  mine. — M.  de  Troisville,  my  niece, 
Mile.  Cormon." 

"Dear  uncle,  how  nicely  he  puts  it,"  thought  Rose  Marie 
Victoire. 

The  Vicomte  de  Troisville,  to  describe  him  in  a  few  words, 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  103 

was  a  du  Bousquier  of  noble  family.  Between  the  two  men 
there  was  just  that  difference  which  separates  the  gentle- 
man from  the  ordinary  man.  If  they  had  been  standing  side 
by  side,  even  the  most  furious  Radical  could  not  have  denied 
the  signs  of  race  about  the  Vicomte.  There  was  all  the  dis- 
tinction of  refinement  about  his  strength,  his  figure  had 
lost  nothing  of  its  magnificent  dignity.  Blue-eyed, 
dark-haired,  and  olive-skinned,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
than  six-and-forty.  You  might  have  thought  him  a  hand- 
some Spaniard  preserved  in  Eussian  ice.  His  manner,  gait, 
and  bearing,  and  everything  about  him,  suggested  a  diplomate, 
and  a  diplomate  that  has  seen  Europe.  He  looked  like  a 
gentleman  in  his  traveling  dress. 

M.  de  Troisville  seemed  to  be  tired.  The  Abbe  rose  to 
conduct  him  to  his  room,  and  was  overcome  with  astonishment 
when  Rose  opened  the  door  of  the  boudoir,  now  transformed 
into  a  bedroom.  Then  uncle  and  niece  left  the  noble  visitor 
leisure  to  attend  to  his  toilet  with  the  help  of  Jacquelin,  who 
brought  him  all  the  luggage  which  he  needed.  While  M.  de 
Troisville  was  dressing,  they  walked  on  the  terrace  by  the 
Brillante.  The  Abbe,  by  a  strange  chance,  was  more  absent- 
minded  than  usual,  and  Mile.  Cormon  no  less  preoccupied,  so 
they  paced  to  and  fro  in  silence.  Never  in  her  life  had  Mile. 
Cormon  seen  so  attractive  a  man  as  this  Olympian  Vicomte. 
She  could  not  say  to  herself,  like  a  German  girl,  "I  have  found 
my  Ideal  I"  but  she  felt  that  she  was  in  love  from  head  to 
foot.  "The  very  thing  for  me,"  she  thought.  On  a  sudden 
she  fled  to  Marietta,  to  know  whether  dinner  could  be  put 
back  a  little  without  serious  injury. 

"Uncle,  this  M.  de  Troisville  is  very  pleasant,"  she  said 
when  she  came  back  again. 

"Why,  my  girl,  he  has  not  said  a  word  as  yet,"  returned 
the  Abbe,  laughing. 

"But  one  can  tell  by  his  general  appearance.  Is  he  a 
bachelor  ?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  it,"  replied  her  uncle,  his  thoughts 
full  of  that  afternoon's  discussion  with  the  Abbe  Couturier 


104  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

on  Divine  Grace.  "M.  de  Troisville  said  in  his  letter  that 
he  wanted  to  buy  a  house  here. — If  he  were  married,  he 
would  not  have  come  alone,"  he  added  carelessly.  It  never  en- 
tered his  head  that  his  niece  could  think  of  marriage  for  her- 
self. 

"Is  he  rich  ?" 

"He  is  the  younger  son  of  a  younger  branch.  His  grand- 
father held  a  major's  commission,  but  this  young  man's 
father  made  a  foolish  marriage." 

"Young  man !"  repeated  his  niece.  "Why,  he  is  quite  five- 
and-forty,  uncle,  it  seems  to  me."  She  felt  an  uncontrol- 
lable desire  to  compare  his  age  with  hers. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Abbe.  "But  to  a  poor  priest  at  seventy  a 
man  of  forty  seems  young,  Eose." 

By  this  time  all  Alengon  knew  that  M.  le  Vicomte  de  Trois- 
ville had  arrived  at  the  Hotel  Cormon. 

The  visitor  very  soon  rejoined  his  host  and  hostess,  and  be- 
gan to  admire  the  view  of  the  Brillante,  the  garden,  and  the 
house. 

"Monsieur  FAbbe,"  he  said,  "to  find  such  a  place  as  this 
would  be  the  height  of  my  ambition." 

The  old  maid  wished  to  read  a  declaration  in  the  speech. 
She  lowered  her  eyes. 

"You  must  be  very  fond  of  it,  mademoiselle,"  continued 
the  Vicomte. 

"How  could  I  help  being  fond  of  it  ?  It  has  been  in  our 
family  since  1574,  when  one  of  our  ancestors,  an  Intendant 
of  the  Duchy  of  Alengon,  bought  the  ground  and  built  the 
house.  It  is  laid  on  piles." 

Jacquelin  having  announced  that  dinner  was  ready,  M.  de 
Troisville  offered  his  arm.  The  radiant  spinster  tried  not  to 
lean  too  heavily  upon  him ;  she  was  still  afraid  that  he  might 
think  her  forward. 

"Everything  is  quite  in  harmony  here,"  remarked  the 
Vicomte  as  they  sat  down  to  table. 

"Yes,  the  trees  in  our  garden  are  full  of  birds  that  give  us 
music  for  nothing.  Nobody  molests  them;  the  nightingales 
sing  there  every  night,"  said  Mile.  Cormon. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  105 

"I  am  speaking  of  the  inside  of  the  house,"  remarked  the 
Vicomte;  he  had  not  troubled  himself  to  study  his  hostess 
particularly,  and  was  quite  unaware  of  her  vacuity. — "Yes, 
everything  contributes  to  the  general  effect;  the  tones  of 
color,  the  furniture,  the  character  of  the  house,"  added  he, 
addressing  Mile.  Cormon. 

"It  costs  a  great  deal,  though,"  replied  that  excellent 
spinster,  "the  rates  are  something  enormous."  The  word 
"contribute"  had  impressed  itself  on  her  mind. 

"Ah !  then  are  the  rates  high  here  ?"  asked  the  Vicomte, 
too  full  of  his  own  ideas  to  notice  the  absurd  non 
sequitur. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  the  Abbe.  "My  niece  manages  her 
own  property  and  mine." 

"The  rates  are  a  mere  trifle  if  people  are  well-to-do,"  struck 
in  Mile.  Cormon,  anxious  not  to  appear  stingy.  "As  to  the 
furniture,  I  leave  things  as  they  are.  I  shall  never  make 
any  changes  here;  at  least  I  shall  not,  unless  I  marry,  and 
in  that  case  everything  in  the  house  must  be  arranged  to  suit 
the  master's  taste." 

"You  are  for  great  principles,  mademoiselle,"  smiled  the 
Vicomte ;  "somebody  will  be  a  lucky  man." 

"Nobody  ever  made  me  such  a  pretty  speech  before," 
thought  Mile.  Cormon. 

The  Vicomte  complimented  his  hostess  upon  the  appoint- 
ments of  the  table  and  the  housekeeping,  admitting  that  he 
thought  that  the  provinces  were  behind  the  times,  and  found 
himself  in  most  delectable  quarters. 

"Delectable,  good  Lord!  what  does  it  mean?"  thought  she. 
"Where  is  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  to  reply  to  him  ?  De-lect- 
able  ?  Is  it  made  up  of  several  words  ?  There !  courage ; 
perhaps  it  is  Eussian,  and  if  so  I  am  not  obliged  to  say  any- 
thing."— Then  she  added  aloud,  her  tongue  unloosed  by  an 
eloquence  which  almost  every  human  creature  can  find  in  a 
great  crisis — "We  have  the  most  brilliant  society  here,  Mon- 
sieur le  Vicomte.  You  will  be  able  to  judge  for  yourself, 
for  it  assembles  in  this  very  house ;  on  some  of  our  acquaint- 


106  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

ances  we  can  always  count;  they  will  have  heard  of  my  re- 
turn no  doubt,  and  will  he  sure  to  corne  to  see  me.  There  is 
the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  a  gentleman  of  the  old  court,  a  man 
of  infinite  wit  and  taste;  then  there  is  M.  le  Marquis 
d'Esgrignon  and  Mile.  Armande,  his  sister" — she  bit  her  lip 
and  changed  her  mind — "a — a  remarkable  woman  in  her  way. 
She  refused  all  offers  of  marriage  so  as  to  leave  her  fortune  to 
her  brother  and  his  son." 

"Ah!  yes;  the  d'Esgrignons,  I  remember  them,"  said  the 
Vicomte. 

"Alengon  is  very  gay,"  pursued  mademoiselle,  now  that  she 
had  fairly  started  off..  "There  is  so  much  going  on;  the  Re- 
ceiver-General gives  dances;  the  Prefect  is  a  very  pleasant 
man;  his  lordship  the  Bishop  occasionally  honors  us  with  a 
visit " 

"Come !"  said  the  Vicomte,  smiling  as  he  spoke,  "I  have 
done  well,  it  seems,  to  come  creeping  back  like  a  hare  (un 
lievre)  to  die  in  my  form." 

"It  is  the  same  with  me,"  replied  mademoiselle;  "I  am 
like  a  creeper  (le  lierre),  I  must  cling  to  something  or  die." 

The  Vicomte  took  the  saying  thus  twisted  for  a  joke,  and 
smiled. 

"Ah !"  thought  his  hostess,  "that  is  all  right,  he  understands 
me." 

The  conversation  was  kept  up  upon  generalities.  Under 
pressure  of  a  strong  desire  to  please,  the  strange,  mysterious, 
indefinable  workings  of  consciousness  brought  all  the 
Chevalier  de  Valois'  tricks  of  speech  uppermost  in  Mile.  Cor- 
mon's  brain.  It  fell  out,  as  it  sometimes  does  in  a  duel,  when 
the  Devil  himself  seems  to  take  aim ;  and  never  did  duelist  hit 
his  man  more  fairly  and  squarely  than  the  old  maid.  The 
Vicomte  de  Troisville  was  too  well  mannered  to  praise  the 
excellent  dinner,  but  his  silence  was  panegyric  in  itself !  As 
he  drank  the  delicious  wines  with  which  Jacquelin  plied  him, 
he  seemed  to  be  meeting  old  friends  with  the  liveliest 
pleasure;  for  your  true  amateur  does  not  applaud,  he  en- 
joys. He  informed  himself  curiously  of  the  prices  of 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A.  COUNTRY  TOWN     107 

houses,  and  sites ;  he  drew  from  mademoiselle  a  long  descrip- 
tion of  the  property  between  the  Brillante  and  the  Sarthe. 
He  was  amazed  that  the  town  and  the  river  lay  so  far  apart, 
and  showed  the  greatest  interest  in  local  topography.  The 
Abbe  sat  silent,  leaving  all  the  conversation  to  his  niece. 
And,  in  truth,  mademoiselle  considered  that  she  interested  M. 
de  Troisville;  he  smiled  graciously  at  her,  he  made  far  more 
progress  with  her  in  the  course  of  a  single  dinner  than  the 
most  ardent  of  her  former  wooers  in  a  whole  fortnight.  For 
which  reasons,  you  may  be  certain  that  never  was  guest  so 
cosseted,  so  lapped  about  with  small  attentions  and  observ- 
ances. He  might  have  been  a  much  loved  lover,  new  come 
home  to  the  house  of  which  he  was  the  delight. 

Mademoiselle  forestalled  his  wants.  She  saw  when  he 
needed  bread,  her  eyes  brooded  over  him;  if  he  turned  his 
head,  she  adroitly  supplemented  his  portion  of  any  dish  which 
he  seemed  to  like;  if  he  had  been  a  glutton,  she  would  have 
killed  him.  What  a  delicious  earnest  of  all  that  she  counted 
upon  doing  for  her  lover !  She  made  no  silly  blunders  of 
self-depreciation  this  time !  She  went  gallantly  forward,  full 
sail,  and  all  flags  flying;  posed  as  the  queen  of  Alengon,  and 
vaunted  her  preserves.  Indeed,  she  fished  for  compliments, 
talking  about  herself  as  if  her  trumpeter  were  dead.  And 
she  saw  that  she  pleased  the  Vicomte,  for  her  wish  to  please 
had  so  transformed  her,  that  she  grew  almost  feminine.  It 
was  not  without  inward  exultation  that  she  heard  footsteps 
while  they  sat  at  dessert ;  sounds  of  going  and  coming  in  the 
ante-chamber  and  noises  in  the  salon ;  and  knew  that  the  usual 
company  was  arriving.  She  called  the  attention  of  her  uncle 
and  M.  de  Troisville  to  this  fact  as  a  proof  of  the  affection  in 
which  she  was  held,  whereas  it  really  was  a  symptom  of  the 
paroxysm  of  curiosity  which  convulsed  the  whole  town.  Im- 
patient to  show  herself  in  her  glory,  she  ordered  coffee  and 
the  liqueurs  to  be  taken  to  the  salon,  whither  Jacquelin  went 
to  display  to  the  elite  of  Al.engon  the  splendors  of  a  Dresden 
china  service,  which  only  left  the  cupboard  twice  in  a  twelve- 
month. All  these  circumstances  were  noted  by  people  dis- 
posed to  criticise  under  their  breath. 


108  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"Egad !"  cried  du  Bousquier,  "nothing  but  Mme. 
Amphoux's  liqueurs,  which  only  come  out  on  the  four  great 
festival  days !" 

"Decidedly,  this  match  must  have  been  arranged  by  cor- 
respondence for  a  year  past,"  said  M.  le  President  du  Bon- 
ceret.  "The  postmaster  here  has  been  receiving  letters  with 
an  Odessa  postmark  for  the  last  twelve  months." 

Mme.  Granson  shuddered.  M.  le  Chevalier  de  Valois  had 
eaten  a  heavy  dinner,  but  he  felt  the  pallor  spreading  over  his 
left  cheek;  felt,  too,  that  he  was  betraying  his  secret,  and 
said,  "It  is  cold  to-day,  do  you  not  think  ?  I  am  freezing." 

"It  is  the  neighborhood  of  Kussia,"  suggested  du  Bousquier. 
And  the  Chevalier  looked  at  his  rival  as  who  should  say, 
"Well  put  in!" 

Mile.  Cormon  was  so  radiant,  so  triumphant,  that  she  looked 
positively  handsome,  it  was  thought.  NOT  was  this  unwonted 
brilliancy  wholly  due  to  sentiment;  ever  since  the  morning 
the  blood  had  been  surging  through  her  veins;  the  presenti- 
ments of  a  great  crisis  at  hand  affected  her  nerves.  It  needed 
a  combination  of  circumstances  to  make  her  so  little  like  her- 
self. With  what  joy  did  she  not  solemnly  introduce  the 
Vicomte  to  the  Chevalier,  and  the  Chevalier  to  the  Vicomte ; 
all  Alengon  was  presented  to  M.  de  Troisville,  and  M.  de 
Troisville  made  the  acquaintance  of  all  Alengon.  It  fell 
out,  naturally  enough,  that  the  Vicomte  and  the  Chevalier, 
two  born  aristocrats,  were  in  sympathy  at  once;  they 
recognized  each  other  for  inhabitants  of  the  same  social 
sphere.  They  began  to  chat  as  they  stood  by  the  fire.  A 
circle  formed  about  them  listening  devoutly  to  their  conversa- 
tion, though  it  was  carried  on  sotto  voce.  Fully  to  realize  the 
scene,  imagine  Mile.  Cormon  standing  with  her  back  to  the 
chimney-piece,  busy  preparing  coffee  for  her  supposed  suitor. 

M.  DE  VALOIS.  "So  M.  le  Vicomte  is  coming  to  settle 
here,  people  say." 

M.  DE  TROISVILLE.  "Yes,  monsieur.  I  have  come  to  look 
for  a  house."  (Mile.  Cormon  turns,  cup  in  hand.)  "And 
I  must  have  a  large  one" — (Mile.  Cormon  offers  the  cup  of 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  109 

coffee)  "to  hold  my  family."  (The  room  grows  dark  before 
the  old  maid's  eyes.) 

M.  DE  VALOIS.     "Are  you  married?" 

M.  DE  TROISVILLE.  "Yes,  I  have  been  married  for  sixteen 
years.  My  wife  is  the  daughter  of  the  Princess  Scher- 
belloff." 

Mile.  Cormon  dropped  like  one  thunderstruck.  Du  Bous- 
quier, seeing  her  reel,  sprang  forward,  and  caught  her  in  his 
arms.  Somebody  opened  the  door  to  let  him  pass  out  with  his 
enormous  burden.  The  mettled  Republican,  counseled  by 
Josette,  summoned  up  his  strength,  bore  the  old  maid  to  her 
room,  and  deposited  her  upon  the  bed.  Josette,  armed  with 
a  pair  of  scissors,  cut  the  stay-laces,  drawn  outrageously  tight. 
Du  Bousquier,  rough  and  ready,  dashed  cold  water  over  Mile. 
Cormon's  face  and  the  bust,  which  broke  from  its  bounds  like 
Loire  in  flood.  The  patient  opened  her  eyes,  saw  du  Bous- 
quier, and  gave  a  cry  of  alarmed  modesty.  Du  Bousquier 
withdrew,  leaving  half-a-dozen  women  in  possession,  with 
Mme.  Granson  at  their  head,  Mme.  Granson  beaming  with 

joy- 

What  had  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  done?  True  to  his 
system,  he  had  been  covering  the  retreat. 

"Poor  Mile.  Cormon !"  he  said,  addressing  M.  de  Troisville, 
but  looking  round  the  room,  quelling  the  beginnings  of  an 
outbreak  of  laughter  with  his  haughty  eyes.  "She  is  dread- 
fully troubled  with  heated  blood.  She  would  not  be  bled  be- 
fore going  to  the  Prebaudet  (her  country  house),  and  this  is 
the  result  of  the  spring  weather." 

"She  drove  over  in  the  rain  this  morning,"  said  the  Abbe 
de  Sponde.  "She  may  have  taken  a  little  cold,  and  so  caused  the 
slight  derangement  of  the  system  to  which  she  is  subject. 
But  she  will  soon  get  over  it." 

"She  was  telling  me  the  day  before  yesterday  that  she  had 
not  had  a  recurrence  of  it  for  three  months ;  she  added  at  the 
time  that  it  was  sure  to  play  her  a  bad  turn,"  added  the 
Chevalier. 

"Ah !  so  you  are  married  !"  thought  Jacquejin,  watching  M. 
de  Troisville,  who  was  sipping  his  coffee. 


110  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

The  faithful  man-servant  made  his  mistress'  disappoint- 
ment his  own.  He  guessed  her  feelings.  He  took  away  the 
liqueurs  brought  out  for  a  bachelor,  and  not  for  a  Eussian 
woman's  husband.  All  these  little  things  were  noticed  with 
amusement. 

The  Abbe  de  Sponde  had  known  all  along  why  M.  de  Trois- 
ville  had  come  to  Alengon,  but  in  his  absent-mindedness  he 
had  said  nothing  about  it ;  it  had  never  entered  his  mind  that 
his  niece  could  take  the  slightest  interest  in  that  gentleman. 
As  for  the  Vicomte,  he  was  engrossed  by  the  object  of  his 
journey;  like  many  other  married  men,  he  was  in  no  great 
hurry  to  introduce  his  wife  into  the  conversation ;  he  had  had 
no  opportunity  of  saying  that  he  was  married;  and  besides, 
he  thought  that  Mile.  Cormon  knew  his  history.  Du  Bous- 
quier  reappeared,  and  was  questioned  without  mercy.  One 
of  the  six  women  came  down,  and  reported  that  Mile.  Cormon 
was  feeling  much  better,  and  that  her  doctor  had  come;  but 
she  was  to  stay  in  bed,  and  it  appeared  that  she  ought  to  be 
bled  at  once.  The  salon  soon  filled.  In  Mile.  Cormon's  absence, 
the  ladies  were  free  to  discuss  the  tragi-comic  scene  which  had 
just  taken  place;  and  duly  they  enlarged,  annotated,  em- 
bellished, colored,  adorned,  embroidered,  and  bedizened  the 
tale  which  was  to  set  all  Alengon  thinking  of  the  old  maid 
on  the  morrow. 

Meanwhile,  Josette  upstairs  was  saying  to  her  mistress, 
"That  good  M.  du  Bousquier!  How  he  carried  you  up- 
stairs !  What  a  fist !  Really,  your  illness  made  him  quite 
pale.  He  loves  you  still." 

And  with  this  final  phrase,  the  solemn  and  terrible  day 
came  to  a  close. 

Next  day,  all  morning  long,  the  news  of  the  comedy,  with 
full  details,  circulated  over  Alengon,  raising  laughter  every- 
where, to  the  shame  of  the  town  be  it  said.  Next  day,  Mile, 
Cormon,  very  much  the  better  for  the  blood-letting,  would 
have  seemed  sublime  to  the  most  hardened  of  those  who  jeered 
at  her,  if  they  could  but  have  seen  her  noble  dignity  and  the 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  111 

Christian  resignation  in  her  soul,  as  she  gave  her  hand  to  the 
unconscious  perpetrator  of  the  hoax,  and  went  in  to  breakfast. 
Ah!  heartless  wags,  who  were  laughing  at  her  expense,  why 
could  you  not  hear  her  say  to  the  Vicomte : 

"Mme.  de  Troisville  will  have  some  difficulty  in  finding  a 
house  to  suit  her.  Do  me  the  favor  of  using  my  house,  mon- 
sieur, until  you  have  made  all  your  arrangements." 

"But  I  have  two  girls  and  two  boys,  mademoiselle.  We 
should  put  you  to  a  great  deal  of  inconvenience." 

"Do  not  refuse  me,"  said  she,  her  eyes  full  of  apprehension 
and  regret. 

"I  made  the  offer,  however  you  might  decide,  in  my  letter ; 
but  you  did  not  take  it,"  remarked  the  Abbe. 

"What,  uncle !  did  you  know  ? " 

Poor  thing,  she  broke  off.  Josette  heaved  a  sigh,  and 
neither  M?  de  Troisville  nor  the  uncle  noticed  anything. 

After  breakfast,  the  Abbe  de  Sponde,  carrying  out  the  plan 
agreed  upon  over  night,  took  the  Vicomte  to  see  houses  for 
sale  and  suitable  sites  for  building.  Mile.  Cormon  was  left 
alone  in  the  salon. 

"I  am  the  talk  of  the  town,  child,  by  this  time,"  she  said, 
looking  piteously  at  Josette. 

"Well,  mademoiselle,  get  married." 

"But,  my  girl,  I  am  not  at  all  prepared  to  make  a  choice." 

"Bah !  I  should  take  M.  du  Bousquier  if  I  were  you." 

"M.  de  Valois  says  that  he  is  such  a  Eepublican, 
Josette." 

"Your  gentlemen  don't  know  what  they  are  talking  about ; 
they  say  that  he  robbed  the  Eepublic,  so  he  can't  have  been  at 
all  fond  of  it,"  said  Josette,  and  with  that  she  went. 

"That  girl  is  amazingly  shrewd,"  thought  Mile.  Cormon, 
left  alone  to  her  gnawing  perplexity. 

She  saw  that  the  only  way  of  silencing  talk  was  to  marry 
at  once.  This  last  so  patently  humiliating  check  was  enough 
to  drive  her  to  extreme  measures ;  and  it  lakes  a  great  deal  to 
force  a  feeble-minded  human  being  out  of  a  groove,  be  it 

good  or  bad.     Both  the  old  bachelors  understood  the  position 
VOL.  7 — 30 


112  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

of  affairs,  both  made  up  their  minds  to  call  in  the  morning 
to  make  inquiries,  and  (in  their  own  language)  to  press  the 
point. 

M.  de  Valois  considered  that  the  occasion  demanded  a 
scrupulous  toilet ;  he  took  a  bath,  he  groomed  himself  with  un- 
usual care,  and  for  the  first  time  and  the  last  Cesarine 
saw  him  applying  "a  suspicion  of  rouge"  with  incredible 
skill. 

Du  Bousquier,  rough  and  ready  Eepublican  that  he  was, 
inspired  by  dogged  purpose,  paid  no  attention  to  his  appear- 
ance, he  hurried  round,  and  came  in  first.  The  fate  of  men, 
like  the  destinies  of  empires,  hangs  on  small  things.  History 
records  all  such  principal  causes  of  great  failure  or  success — 
a  Kellermann's  charge  at  Marengo,  a  Bliicher  coming  up  at 
the  battle  of  Waterloo,  a  Prince  Eugene  slighted  by  Louis 
XIV.,  a  cure  on  the  battlefield  of  Denain ;  but  nobody  profits 
by  the  lesson  to  be  diligently  attentive  to  the  little  trifles  of 
his  own  life.  Behold  the  results. — The  Duchesse  de  Langeais 
in  L'Histoire  des  Treize  entering  a  convent  for  want  of  ten 
minutes'  patience;  Judge  Popinot  in  L' Interdiction  putting 
off  his  inquiries  as  to  the  Marquis  d'Espard  till  to-morrow; 
Charles  Grandet  coming  home  by  way  of  Bordeaux  instead  of 
Nantes — and  these  things  are  said  to  happen  by  accident  and 
mere  chance !  The  few  moments  spent  in  putting  on  that 
suspicion  of  rouge  wrecked  M.  de  Valois'  hopes.  Only  in 
such  a  way  could  the  Chevalier  have  succumbed.  He  had 
lived  for  the  Graces,  he  was  foredoomed  to  die  through  them. 
Even  as  he  gave  a  last  look  in  the  mirror,  the  burly  du  Bous- 
quier was  entering  the  disconsolate  old  maid's  drawing-room. 
His  entrance  coincided  with  a  gleam  of  favor  in  the  lady's 
mind,  though  in  the  course  of  her  deliberations  the  Chevalier 
had  decidedly  had  the  advantage. 

"It  is  God's  will,"  she  said  to  herself  when  du  Bousquier  ap- 
peared. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  trust  you  will  not  take  my  importunity 
in  bad  part;  I  did  not  like  to  trust  that  great  stupid  of  a 
Rene  to  make  inquiries,  and  came  myself." 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  113 

"I  am  perfectly  well,"  she  said  nervously;  then,  after  a 
^ause,  and  in  a  very  emphatic  tone,  "Thank  you,  M.  du 
Bousquier,  for  the  trouble  that  you  took  and  that  I  gave  you 
yesterday " 

She  recollected  how  she  had  lain  in  du  Bousquier's  arms, 
and  the  accident  seemed  to  her  to  be  a  direct  order  from 
heaven.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  a  man  had  seen  her 
with  her  belt  wrenched  apart,  her  stay-laces  cut,  the  jewel 
shaken  violently  out  of  its  case. 

"I  was  so  heartily  glad  to  carry  you,  tha.t  I  thought  you  a 
light  weight,"  said  he. 

At  this  Mile.  Cormon  looked  at  du  Bousquier  as  she  never 
looked  at  any  man  in  the  world  before ;  and  thus  encouraged, 
the  ex-contractor  for  forage  flung  a  side  glance  that  went 
straight  to  the  old  maid's  heart. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  added  he,  "that  this  has  not  given  me  the 
right  to  keep  you  always."  (She  was  listening  with  rapture 
in  her  face.)  "You  looked  dazzling  as  you  lay  swooning 
there  on  the  bed;  I  never  saw  such  a  fine  woman  in  my  life, 
and  I  have  seen  a  good  many. — There  is  this  about  a  stout 
woman,  she  is  superb  to  look  at,  she  has  only  to  show  herself, 
she  triumphs." 

"You  mean  to  laugh  at  me,"  said  the  old  maid;  "that  is 
not  kind  of  you,  when  the  whole  town  is  perhaps  putting  a 
bad  construction  on  things  that  happened  yesterday." 

"It  is  as  true  as  that  my  name  is  du  Bousquier,  made- 
moiselle. My  feelings  towards  you  have  never  changed ;  your 
first  rejection  did  not  discourage  me." 

The  old  maid  lowered  her  eyes.  There  was  a  pause,  a 
painful  ordeal  for  du  Bousquier.  Then  Mile.  Cormon  made 
up  her  mind  and  raised  her  eyelids;  she  looked  up  tenderly 
at  du  Bousquier  through  her  tears. 

"If  this  is  so,  monsieur,"  she  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "I 
only  ask  you  to  allow  me  to  lead  a  Christian  life,  do  not  ask 
me  to  change  any  of  my  habits  as  to  religion,  leave  me  free 
to  choose  my  directors,  and  I  will  give  you  my  hand,"  holding 
it  out  to  him  as  she  spoke. 


114  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Du  Bousquier  caught  the  plump,  honest  hand  that  held  so 
many  francs,  and  kissed  it  respectfully. 

"But  I  have  one  thing  more  to  ask,"  added  Mile.  Cormon, 
suffering  him  to  kiss  her  hand. 

"It  is  granted,  and  if  it  is  impossible,  it  shall  be  done"  (a 
reminiscence  of  Beaujon). 

"Alas !"  began  the  old  maid,  "for  love  of  me  you  must  bur- 
den your  soul  with  a  sin  which  I  know  is  heinous ;  falsehood 
is  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins ;  but  still  you  can  make  a  con- 
fession, can  you  not  ?  We  will  both  of  us  do  penance."  They 
looked  tenderly  at  each  other  at  those  words. 

"Perhaps,"  continued  Mile.  Cormon,  "after  all,  it  is  one  of 
those  deceptions  which  the  Church  calls  venial " 

"Is  she  going  to  tell  me  that  she  is  in  Suzanne's  plight?" 

thought  du  Bousquier.  "What  luck! "  Aloud  he  said, 

"Well,  mademoiselle?" 

"And  you  must  take  it  upon  you " 

"What?" 

"To  say  that  this  marriage  was  agreed  upon  between  us 
six  months  ago." 

"Charming  woman !"  exclaimed  the  forage-contractor,  and 
by  his  manner  he  implied  that  he  was  prepared  to  make  even 
this  sacrifice ;  "a  man  only  does  thus  much  for  the  woman  he 
has  worshiped  for  ten  years." 

"In  spite  of  my  severity  ?"  asked  she. 

"Yes,  in  spite  of  your  severity." 

"M.  du  Bousquier,  I  have  misjudged  you."  Again  she  held 
out  her  big,  red  hand,  and  again  du  Bousquier  kissed  it. 

At  that  very  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the  betrothed 
couple,  turning  their  heads,  perceived  the  charming  but  too 
tardy  Chevalier. 

"Ah !  fair  queen,"  said  he,  "so  you  have  risen  ?" 

Mile.  Cormon  smiled  at  him,  and  something  clutched  at 
her  heart.  M.  de  Valois,  grown  remarkably  young  and  ir- 
resistible, looked  like  Lauzun  entering  La  Grande  Made- 
moiselle's apartments. 

"Ah!  my  dear  du  Bousquier!"  he  continued,  half  laugh- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     115 

/ugly,  so  sure  was  he  of  success.  "M.  de  Troisville  and  the 
Abbe  de  Sponde  are  in  front  of  your  house,  looking  it  over 
like  a  pair  of  surveyors." 

"On  my  word/'  said  du  Bousquier,  "if  the  Vicomte  de 
Troisville  wants  it,  he  can  have  it  for  forty  thousand  francs. 
It  is  of  no  use  whatever  to  me. — Always,  if  mademoiselle 
has  no  objection,  that  must  be  ascertained  first. — Made- 
moiselle, may  I  tell? — Yes? — Very  well,  my  dear  Chevalier, 
you  shall  be  the  first  to  hear" — Mile.  Cormon  dropped  her 
eyes — "of  the  honor  and  the  favor  that  mademoiselle  is  doing 
me;  I  have  kept  it  a  secret  for  more  than  six  months.  We 
are  going  to  be  married  in  a  very  few  days,  the  contract  is 
drawn  up,  we  shall  sign  it  to-morrow.  So,  you  see,  that  I 
have  no  further  use  for  my  house  in  the  Rue  du  Cygne.  I 
am  quietly  on  the  lookout  for  a  purchaser,  and  the  Abbe  de 
Sponde,  who  knew  this,  naturally  took  M.  de  Troisville  to 
see  it." 

There  was  such  a  color  of  truth  about  this  monstrous  fib 
that  the  Chevalier  was  quite  taken  in  by  it.  My  dear 
Chevalier  was  a  return  for  all  preceding  defeats;  it  was  like 
the  victory  won  at  Pultowa  by  Peter  the  Great  over  Charles 
XII.  And  thus  du  Bousquier  enjoyed  a  delicious  revenge  for 
hundreds  of  pin-pricks  endured  in  silence ;  but  in  his  triumph 
he  forgot  that  he  was  not  a  young  man,  he  passed  his  fingers 
through  the  false  toupet,  and — it  came  off  in  his  hand ! 

"I  congratulate  you  both,"  said  the  Chevalier,  with  an 
agreeable  smile ;  "I  wish  that  you  may  end  like  the  fairy 
stories,  'They  lived  very  happily  and  had  a  fine — family  of 
children !' '  Here  he  shaped  a  cone  of  snuff  in  his  palm  be- 
fore adding  mockingly,  "But,  monsieur,  you  forgot  that — 
er — you  wear  borrowed  plumes." 

Du  Bousquier  reddened.  The  false  toupet  was  ten  inches 
awry.  Mile.  Cormon  raised  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  her 
betrothed,  saw  the  bare  cranium,  and  bashfully  looked  down 
again.  Never  toad  looked  more  venomously  at  a  victim  than 
du  Bousquier  at  the  Chevalier. 

"A  pack  of  aristocrats  that  look  down  on  me !"  he  thought. 
"I  will  crush  you  all  some  of  these  days." 


116  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

The  Chevalier  de  Valois  imagined  that  he  had  regained  all 
the  lost  ground.  But  Mile.  Cormon  was  not  the  woman  to 
understand  the  connection  between  the  Chevalier's  congratu- 
lation and  the  allusion  to  the  false  toupet;  and,  for  that 
matter,  even  if  she  had  understood,  her  hand  had  been  given. 
M.  de  Valois  saw  too  clearly  that  all  was  lost.  Meantime,  as 
the  two  men  stood  without  speaking,  Mile.  Cormon  innocently 
studied  how  to  amuse  them. 

"Play  a  game  of  reversis,"  suggested  she,  without  any  mali- 
cious intention. 

Du  Bousquier  smiled,  and  went  as  future  master  of  the 
house  for  the  card-table.  Whether  the  Chevalier  de  Valois 
had  lost  his  head,  or  whether  he  chose  to  remain  to  study  the 
causes  of  his  defeat  and  to  remedy  it,  certain  it  is  that  he  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  led  like  a  sheep  to  the  slaughter.  But 
he  had  just  received  the  heaviest  of  all  bludgeon  blows;  and 
a  noble  might  have  been  excused  if  he  had  been  at  any  rate 
stunned  by  it.  Very  soon  the  worthy  Abbe  de  Sponde  and 
M.  de  Troisville  returned,  and  at  once  Mile.  Cormon  hurried 
into  the  ante-chamber,  took  her  uncle  aside,  and  told  him  in 
a  whisper  of  her  decision.  Then,  hearing  that  the  house  in 
the  Eue  du  Cygne  suited  M.  de  Troisville,  she  begged  her 
betrothed  to  do  her  the  service  of  saying  that  her  uncle  knew 
that  the  place  was  for  sale.  She  dared  not  confide  the  fib  to 
the  Abbe,  for  fear  that  he  should  forget.  The  falsehood  was 
destined  to  prosper  better  than  if  it  had  been  a  virtuous 
action.  All  Alengon  heard  the  great  news  that  night.  For 
four  days  the  town  had  found  as  much  to  say  as  in  the 
ominous  days  of  1814  and  1815.  Some  laughed  at  the  idea, 
others  thought  it  true;  some  condemned,  others  approved  the 
marriage.  The  bourgeoisie  of  Alengon  regarded  it  as  a  con- 
quest, and  they  were  the  best  pleased. 

The  Chevalier  de  Valois,  next  day,  among  his  own  circle, 
brought  out  this  cruel  epigram,  "The  Cormons  are  ending  as 
they  began ;  stewards  and  contractors  are  all  on  a  footing." 

The  news  of  Mile.  Cormon's  choice  went  to  poor  Athanase's 
heart ;  but  he  showed  not  a  sign  of  the  dreadful  tumult  surg- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  117 

ing  within.  He  heard  of  the  marriage  at  President  du  Ron- 
ceret's  while  his  mother  was  playing  a  game  of  boston.  Mme. 
Granson,  looking  up,  saw  her  son's  face  in  the  glass;  he 
looked  white,  she  thought,  but  then  he  had  been  pale  ever  since 
vague  rumors  had  reached  him  in  the  morning.  Mile.  Cor- 
mon  was  the  card  on  which  Athanase  staked  his  life,  and  chill 
presentiments  of  impending  catastrophe  already  wrapped  him 
about.  When  intellect  and  imagination  have  exaggerated  a 
calamity  till  it  becomes  a  burden  too  heavy  for  shoulders  and 
brow  to  bear,  when  some  long-cherished  hope  fails  utterly, 
and  with  it  the  visions  which  enable  a  man  to  forget  the 
fierce  vulture  cares  gnawing  at  his  heart;  then,  if  that  man 
has  no  belief  in  himself,  in  spite  of  his  powers;  no  belief  in 
the  future,  in  spite  of  the  Power  Divine — he  is  broken  in 
pieces.  Athanase  was  a  product  of  education  under  the 
Empire.  Fatalism,  the  Emperor's  creed,  spread  downwards 
to  the  lowest  ranks  of  the  army,  to  the  very  schoolboys  at  their 
desks.  Athanase  followed  Mme.  du  Ronceret's  play  with  a 
stolidity  which  might  so  easily  have  been  taken  for  indiffer- 
ence, that  Mme.  Granson  fancied  she  had  been  mistaken  as 
to  her  son's  feelings. 

Athanase's  apparent  carelessness  explained  his  refusal  to 
sacrifice  his  so-called  "Liberal"  opinions.  This  word,  then 
recently  coined  for  the  Emperor  Alexander,  proceeded  into  the 
language,  I  believe,  by  way  of  Mme.  de  Stael  through  Benja- 
min Constant. 

After  that  fatal  evening  the  unhappy  young  man  took  to 
haunting  one  of  the  most  picturesque  walks  along  the  Sarthe ; 
every  artist  who  comes  to  Alengon  sketches  it  from  that  point 
of  view,  for  the  sake  of  the  watermills,  and  the  river  gleaming 
brightly  out  among  the  fields,  between  the  shapely  well-grown 
trees  on  either  side.  Flat  though  the  land  may  be,  it  lacks 
none  of  the  subdued  peculiar  charm  of  French  landscape; 
for  in  France  your  eyes  are  never  wearied  by  glaring  Eastern 
sunlight,  nor  saddened  by  too  continual  mist.  It  is  a  lonely 
spot.  Dwellers  in  the  provinces  care  nothing  for  beautiful 
scenery,  perhaps  because  it  is  always  about  them,  perhaps 


118  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

because  there  is  a  sense  lacking  in  them.  If  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  a  promenade,  a  mall,  or  any  spot  from  which  you  see 
a  beautiful  view,  it  is  sure  to  be  the  one  unfrequented  part  of 
the  town.  Athanase  liked  the  loneliness,  with  the  water  like  a 
living  presence  in  it,  and  the  fields  just  turning  green  in  the 
warmth  of  the  early  spring  sunlight.  Occasionally  some  one 
who  had  seen  him  sitting  at  a  poplar  foot,  and  received  an 
intent  gaze  from  his  eyes,  would  speak  to  Mme.  Granson 
about  him. 

"There  is  something  the  matter  with  your  son." 

"I  know  what  he  is  about/'  the  mother  would  say  with  a 
satisfied  air,  hinting  that  he  was  meditating  some  great  work. 

Athanase  meddled  no  more  in  politics;  he  had  no  opin- 
ions ;  and  yet,  now  and  again,  he  was  merry  enough,  merry  at 
the  expense  of  others,  after  the  wont  of  those  who  stand  alone 
and  apart  in  contempt  of  public  opinion.  The  young  fellow 
lived  so  entirely  outside  the  horizon  of  provincial  ideas  and 
amusements,  that  he  was  interesting  to  few  people ;  he  did  not 
so  much  as  rouse  curiosity.  Those  who  spoke  of  him  to  his 
mother  did  so  for  her  sake,  not  for  his.  Not  a  creature  in 
Alengon  sympathized  with  Athanase;  the  Sarthe  received  the 
tears  which  no  friend,  no  loving  woman  dried.  If  the 
magnificent  Suzanne  had  chanced  to  pass  that  way,  how  much 
misery  might  have  been  prevented — the  two  young  creatures 
would  have  fallen  in  love. 

And  yet  Suzanne  certainly  passed  that  way.  Her  ambition 
had  been  first  awakened,  by  a  sufficiently  marvelous  tale  of 
things  which  happened  in  1799;  an  old  story  of  adventures 
begun  at  the  sign  of  the  Three  Moors  had  turned  her  childish 
brain.  They  used  to  tell  how  an  adventuress,  beautiful  as  an 
angel,  had  come  from  Paris  with  a  commission  from  Fouche 
to  ensnare  the  Marquis  de  Montauran,  the  Chouan  leader  sent 
over  by  the  Bourbons ;  how  she  met  him  at  that  very  inn  of 
the  Three  Moors  as  he  came  back  from  his  Mortagne  expedi- 
tion; and  how  she  won  his  love,  and  gave  him  up  to  his 
enemies.  The  romantic  figure  of  this  woman,  the  power  of 
beauty,  the  whole  story  of  Marie  de  Verneuil  and  the  Marquis 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     119 

de  Montauran,  dazzled  Suzanne,  till,  as  she  grew  older,  she 
too  longed  to  play  with  men's  lives.  A  few  months  after  the 
flight,  she  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  see  her  native  place 
again,  on  her  way  to  Brittany  with  an  artist.  She  wanted  to 
see  Fougeres,  where  the  Marquis  de  Montauran  met  his 
death;  and  thought  of  making  a  pilgrimage  to  the  scenes  of 
stories  told  to  her  in  childhood  of  that  War  in  the  West,  BO 
little  known  even  yet.  She  wished,  besides,  to  revisit  Alengon 
with  such  splendor  in  her  surroundings,  and  so  completely 
metamorphosed,  that  nobody  should  know  her  again.  She  in- 
tended to  put  her  mother  beyond  the  reach  of  want  in  one 
moment,  and,  in  some  tactful  way,,  to  send  a  sum  of  money 
to  poor  Athanase — a  sum  which  for  genius  in  modern  days  is 
the  equivalent  of  a  Kebecca's  gift  of  horse  and  armor  to  an 
Ivanhoe  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

A  month  went  by.  Opinions  as  to  Mile.  Cormon's  marriage 
fluctuated  in  the  strangest  way.  There  was  an  incredulous 
section  which  strenuously  denied  the  truth  of  the  report,  and 
a  party  of  believers  who  persistently  affirmed  it.  At  the  end 
of  a  fortnight,  the  doubters  received  a  severe  check.  Du 
Bousquier's  house  was  sold  to  M.  de  Troisville  for  forty-three 
thousand  francs.  M.  de  Troisville  meant  to  live  quite  quietly 
in  Alengon;  he  intended  to  return  to  Paris  after  the  death 
of  the  Princess  Scherbelloff,  but  until  the  inheritance  fell  in 
he  would  spend  his  time  in  looking  after  his  estates.  This 
much  appeared  to  be  fact.  But  the  doubting  faction  declined 
to  be  crushed.  Their  assertion  was  that,  married  or  no,  du 
Bousquier  had  done  a  capital  stroke  of  business,  for  his  house 
only  stood  him  in  a  matter  of  twenty-seven  thousand  francs. 
The  believers  were  taken  aback  by  this  peremptory  decision 
on  the  part  of  their  opponents.  "Choisnel,  Mile.  Cormon's 
notary,  had  not  heard  a  word  of  marriage  settlements,"  added 
the  incredulous. 

But  on  the  twentieth  day  the  unshaken  believers  enjoyed 
a  signal  victory  over  the  doubters.  M.  Lepresseur,  the 
Liberal  notary,  went  to  Mile.  Cormon's  house,  and  the  con- 
tract was  signed.  This  was  the  first  of  many  sacrifices 


120  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

which  Eose  made  to  her  husband.  The  fact  was  that  du 
Bousquier  detested  Choisnel;  he  blamed  the  notary  for  Mile. 
Armande's  refusal  in  the  first  place,  as  well  as  for  his  previous 
rejection  by  Mile.  Cormon,  who,  as  he  believed,  had  followed 
Mile.  Armande's  example.  He  managed  Mile.  Cormon  so 
well,  that  she,  noble-hearted  woman,  believing  that  she  had 
misjudged  her  future  husband,  wished  to  make  reparation 
for  her  doubts,  and  sacrificed  her  notary  to  her  love.  Still 
she  submitted  the  contract  to  Choisnel,  and  he — a  man 
worthy  of  Plutarch — defended  Mile.  Cormon's  interests  by 
letter.  This  was  the  one  cause  of  delay. 

Mile.  Cormon  received  a  good  many  anonymous  letters. 
She  was  informed,  to  her  no  small  astonishment,  that  Suzanne 
was  as  honest  a  woman  as  she  was  herself;  and  that  the 
seducer  in  the  false  toupet  could  not  possibly  have  played  the 
part  assigned  to  him  in  such  an  adventure.  Mile.  Cormon 
scorned  anonymous  letters;  she  wrote,  however,  to  Suzanne 
with  a  view  to  gaining  light  on  the  creeds  of  the  Maternity 
Society.  Suzanne  probably  had  heard  of  du  Bousquier's 
approaching  marriage;  she  confessed  to  her  stratagem,  sent 
a  thousand  francs  to  the  Fund,  and  damaged  the  forage-con- 
tractor's character  very  considerably.  Mile.  Cormon  called 
an  extraordinary  meeting  of  the  Maternity  Charity,  and  the 
assembled  matrons  passed  a  resolution  that  henceforward  the 
Fund  should  give  help  after  and  not  before  misfortunes 
befell. 

In  spite  of  these  proceedings,  which  supplied  the  town  with 
tidbits  of  gossip  to  discuss,  the  banns  were  published  at  the 
church  and  the  mayor's  office.  It  was  Athanase's  duty  to  make 
out  the  needful  documents.  The  betrothed  bride  had  gone 
to  the  Prebaudet,  a  measure  taken  partly  by  way  of  conven- 
tional modesty,  partly  for  general  security.  Thither  du  Bous- 
quier went  every  morning,  fortified  by  atrocious  and  sumptu- 
ous bouquets,  returning  in  the  evening  to  dinner. 

At  last,  one  gray  rainy  day  in  June,  the  wedding  took  place ; 
and  Mile.  Cormon  and  the  Sieur  du  Bousquier,  as  the  in- 
credulous faction  called  him,  were  married  at  the  parish 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  121 

church  in  the  sight  of  all  Alenc,on.  Bride  and  bridegroom 
drove  to  the  mayor's  office,  and  afterwards  to  the  church,  in  a 
caleche — a  splendid  equipage  for  Alengon.  Du  Bousquier  had 
it  sent  privately  from  Paris.  The  loss  of  the  old  cariole  was 
a  kind  of  calamity  for  the  whole  town.  The  saddler  of  the 
Porte  de  Seez  lost  an  income  of  fifty  francs  per  annum  for 
repairs;  he  lifted  up  his  voice  and  wept.  With  dismay  the 
town  of  Alengon  beheld  the  luxury  introduced  by  the  Maison 
Cormon;  every  one  feared  a  rise  of  prices  all  round,  an  in- 
crease of  house  rent,  an  invasion  of  Paris  furniture.  There 
were  some  whose  curiosity  pricked  them  to  the  point  of  giving 
Jacquelin  ten  sous  for  a  nearer  sight  of  so  startling  an  innova- 
tion in  a  thrifty  province.  A  pair  of  Normandy  horses  like- 
wise caused  much  concern. 

"If  we  buy  horses  for  ourselves  in  this  way,  we  shall  not 
sell  them  long  to  those  that  come  to  buy  of  us/'  said  du 
Eonceret's  set. 

The  reasoning  seemed  profound,  stupid  though  it  was,  in  so 
far  as  it  prevented  the  district  from  securing  a  monopoly  of 
money  from  outside.  In  the  political  economy  of  the  prov- 
inces the  wealth  of  nations  consists  not  so  much  in  a  brisk 
circulation  of  money  as  in  hoards  of  unproductive  coin. 

At  length  the  old  maid's  fatal  wish  was  fulfilled.  Penelope 
sank  under  the  attack  of  pleurisy  contracted  forty  days  before 
the  wedding.  Nothing  could  save  her.  Mme.  Granson,  Mari- 
ette,  Mme.  du  Coudrai,  Mme.  du  Eonceret — the  whole  town, 
in  fact — noticed  that  the  bride  came  into  church  with  the 
left  foot  foremost,  an  omen  all  the  more  alarming  because  the 
word  Left  even  then  had  acquired  a  political  significance. 
The  officiating  priest  chanced  to  open  the  mass-book  at  the 
De  profundis.  And  so  the  wedding  passed  off,  amid  presages 
so  ominous,  so  gloomy,  so  overwhelming,  that  nobody  was 
found  to  augur  well-  of  it.  Things  went  from  bad  to  worse. 
There  was  no  attempt  at  a  wedding  party;  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  started  out  for  the  Prebaudet.  Paris  fashions 
were  to  supplant  old  customs !  In  the  evening  Alengon  said 
its  say  as  to  all  these  absurdities;  some  persons  had  reckoned 


122  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

upon  one  of  the  usual  provincial  jollifications,  which  they  con- 
sidered they  had  a  right  to  expect,  and  these  spoke  their  minds 
pretty  freely.  But  Mariette  and  Jacquelin  had  a  merry  wed- 
ding, and  they  alone  in  all  Alengon  gainsaid  the  dismal  proph- 
ecies. 

Bu  Bousquier  wished  to  spend  the  profit  made  by  the  sale 
of  his  house  on  restoring  and  modernizing  the  Hotel  Cormon. 
He  had  quite  made  up  his  mind  to  stay  for  some  months  at 
the  Prebaudet,  whither  he  brought  his  uncle  de  Sponde.  The 
news  spread  dismay  through  Alengon;  every  one  felt  that  du 
Bousquier  was  about  to  draw  the  country  into  the  downward 
path  of  domestic  comfort.  The  foreboding  grew  to  a  fear  one 
morning  when  du  Bousquier  drove  over  from  the  Prebaudet 
to  superintend  his  workmen  at  the  Val-Noble ;  and  the  towns- 
people beheld  a  tilbury,  harnessed  to  a  new  horse,  and  Rene 
in  livery  by  his  master's  side.  Du  Bousquier  had  invested  his 
wife's  savings  in  the  funds  which  stood  at  sixty-seven  francs 
fifty  centimes.  This  was  the  first  act  of  the  new  administra- 
tion. In  the  space  of  one  year,  by  constantly  speculating  for 
a  rise,  he  made  for  himself  a  fortune  almost  as  considerable 
as  his  wife's.  But  something  else  happened  in  connection 
with  this  marriage  to  make  it  seem  yet  more  inauspicious,  and 
put  all  previous  overwhelming  portents  and  alarming  innova- 
tions into  the  background. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  wedding  day.  Athanase  and  his 
mother  were  sitting  in  the  salon  by  the  little  fire  of  brush- 
wood (or  regalades,  as  they  say  in  the  patois),  which  the 
servant  had  lighted  after  dinner. 

"Well,"  said  Mme.  Granson,  "we  will  go  to  President  du 
Ronceret's  to-night,  now  that  we  have  no  Mile.  Cormon. 
Goodness  me !  I  shall  never  get  used  to  calling  her  Mme.  du 
Bousquier ;  that  name  makes  my  lips  sore." 

Athanase  looked  at  his  mother  with  a  sad  constraint;  he 
could  not  smile,  and  he  wanted  to  acknowledge,  as  it  were, 
the  artless  thoughtfulness  which  soothed  the  wound  it  could 
not  heal. 

"Mamma,"  he  began — it  was  several  years  since  he  had 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     123 

used  that  word,  and  his  tones  were  so  gentle  that  they  sounded 
like  the  voice  of  his  childhood — "'mamma,  dear,  do  not  let  us, 
go  out  just  yet ;  it  is  so  nice  here  by  the  fire !" 

It  was  a  supreme  cry  of  mortal  anguish ;  the  mother  heard 
it  and  did  not  understand. 

"Let  us  stay,  child,"  she  said.  "I  would  certainly  rather 
talk  with  you  and  listen  to  your  plans  than  play  at  boston  and 
perhaps  lose  my  money." 

"You  are  beautiful  to-night;  I  like  to  look  at  you.  And 
besides,  the  current  of  my  thoughts  is  in  harmony  with  this 
poor  little  room,  where  we  have  been  through  so  much  trouble 
— you  and  I." 

"And  there  is  still  more  in  store  for  us,  poor  Athanase,  until 
your  work  succeeds.  For  my  own  part,  I  am  used  to  poverty : 
but,  oh,  my  treasure,  to  look  on  and  see  your  youth  go  by 
while  you  have  no  joy  of  it !  Nothing  but  work  in  your  life ! 
That  thought  is  like  a  disease  for  a  mother.  It  tortures  me 
night  and  morning.  I  wake  up  to  it.  Ah,  God  in  heaven! 
what  have  I  done  ?  What  sin  of  mine  is  punished  with  this  ?" 

She  left  her 'seat,  took  a  little  chair,  and  sat  down  beside 
Athanase,  nestling  close  up  to  his  side,  till  she  could  lay  her 
head  on  her  child's  breast.  Where  a  mother  is  truly  a  mother, 
the  grace  of  love  never  dies.  Athanase  kissed  her  on  the  eyes, 
on  the  gray  hair,  on  the  forehead,  with  the  reverent  love  that 
fain  would  lay  the  soul  where  the  lips  are  laid. 

"I  shall  never  succeed,"  he  said,  trying  to  hide  the  fatal 
purpose  which  he  was  revolving  in  his  mind. 

"Pooh !  you  are  not  going  to  be  discouraged  ?  Mind  can  do 
all  things,  as  you  say.  With  ten  bottles  of  ink,  ten  reams  of 
paper,  and  a  strong  will,  Luther  turned  Europe  upside  down. 
Well,  and  you  are  going  to  make  a  great  name  for  yourself ; 
you  are  going  to  use  to  good  ends  the  powers  which  he  used 
for  evil.  Did  you  not  say  so?  Now  7  remember  what  you 
say,  you  see;  I  understand  much  more  than  you  think;  for 
you  still  lie  so  close  under  my  heart,  that  your  least  little 
thought  thrills  through  it,  as  your  slightest  movement  did 
once." 


124  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"I  shall  not  succeed  here,  you  see,  mamma,  and  I  will  not 
have  you  looking  on  while  I  am  struggling  and  heartsore  and 
in  anguish.  Mother,  let  me  leave  Alengon;  I  want  to  go 
through  it  all  away  from  you." 

"I  want  to  be  at  your  side  always/'  she  said  proudly.  "Suf- 
fering alone!  you  without  your  mother!  your  poor  mother 
that  would  be  your  servant  if  need  were,  and  keep  out  of  sight 
for  fear  of  injuring  you,  if  you  wished  it,  and  never  accuse 
you  of  pride !  No,  no,  Athanase,  we  will  never  be  parted !" 

Athanase  put  his  arms  about  her  and  held  her  with  a  pas- 
sionate tight  clasp,  as  a  dying  man  might  cling  to  life. 

"And  yet  I  wish  it,"  he  said.  "If  we  do  not  part,  it  is  all 
over  with  me.  .  .  .  The  double  pain — yours  and  mine — 
would  kill  me.  It  is  better  that  I  should  live,  is  it  not  ?" 

Mme.  Granson  looked  with  haggard  eyes  into  her  son's 
face. 

"So  this  is  what  you  have  been  brooding  over !  They  said 
truth.  Then  you  are  going  away  ?" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  are  not  going  until  you  have  told  me  all  about  it, 
and  without  giving  me  any  warning  ?  You  must  have  some 
things  to  take  with  you,  and  money.  There  are  some  louis 
d'or  sewed  into  my  petticoat ;  you  must  have  them." 

Athanase  burst  into  tears. 

"That  was  all  that  I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  he  said  after  a 
while.  "Now,  I  will  see  you  to  the  President's  house." 

Mother  and  son  went  out  together.  Athanase  left  Mme. 
Granson  at  the  door  of  the  house  where  she  was  to  spend  the 
evening.  He  looked  long  at  the  shafts  of  light  that  escaped 
through  chinks  in  the  shutters.  He  stood  there  glued  to  the 
spot,  while  a  quarter  of  an  hour  went  by,  and  it  was  with 
almost  delirious  joy  that  he  heard  his  mother  say,  "Grand 
independence  of  hearts." 

"Poor  mother,  I  have  deceived  her !"  he  exclaimed  to  him- 
self as  he  reached  the  river. 

He  came  down  to  the  tall  poplar  on  the  bank  where  he  had 
been  wont  to  sit  and  meditate  during  the  last  six  weeks.  Two 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  125 

big  stones  lay  there ;  he  had  brought  them  himself  for  a  seat. 
And  now,  looking  out  over  the  fair  landscape  lying  in  the 
moonlight,  he  passed  in  review  all  the  so  glorious  future  that 
should  have  been  his.  He  went  through  cities  stirred  to  en- 
thusiasm by  his  name ;  he  heard  the  cheers  of  crowded  streets, 
breathed  the  incense  of  banquets,  looked  with  a  great  yearning 
over  that  life  of  his  dreams,  rose  uplifted  and  radiant  in  glori- 
ous triumph,  raised  a  statue  to  himself,  summoned  up  all  his 
illusions  to  bid  them  farewell  in  a  last  Olympian  carouse. 
The  magic  could  only  last  for  a  little  while;  it  fled,  it  had 
vanished  for  ever.  In  that  supreme  moment  he  clung  to  his 
beautiful  tree  as  if  it  had  been  a  friend;  then  he  put  the 
stones,  one  in  either  pocket,  and  buttoned  his  overcoat.  His 
hat  he  had  purposely  left  at  home.  He  went  down  the  bank 
to  look  for  a  deep  spot  which  he  had  had  in  view  for  some 
time;  and  slid  in  resolutely,  trying  to  make  as  little  noise  as 
possible.  There  was  scarcely  a  sound. 

When  Mme.  Granson  came  home  about  half-past  nine  that 
night,  the  maid-of-all-work  said  nothing  of  Athanase,  but 
handed  her  a  letter.  Mme.  Granson  opened  it  and  read : 

"I  have  gone  away,  my  kind  mother;  do  not  think  hardly 
of  me."  That  was  all. 

"A  pretty  thing  he  has  done !"  cried  she.  "And  how  about 
his  linen  and  the  money  ?  But  he  will  write,  and  I  shall  find 
him.  The  poor  children  always  think  themselves  wiser  than 
their  fathers  and  mothers."  And  she  went  to  bed  with  a  quiet 
mind. 

The  Sarthe  had  risen  with  yesterday's  rain.  Fishers  and 
anglers  were  prepared  for  this,  for  the  swollen  river  washes 
down  the  eels  from  the  little  streams  on  its  course.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  an  eel-catcher  had  set  his  lines  over  the  very  spot 
where  poor  Athanase  had  chosen  to  drown  himself,  thinking 
that  he  should  never  be  heard  of  again;  and  next  morning, 
about  six  o'clock,  the  man  drew  out  the  young  dead  body. 

One  or  two  women  among  Mme.  Granson's  few  friends 
went  to  prepare  the  poor  widow  with  all  possible  care  to  re- 
ceive the  dreadful  yield  of  the  river.  The  news  of  the  suicide, 


126  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

as  might  be  expected,  produced  a  tremendous  sensation.  Only 
last  evening  the  poverty-stricken  man  of  genius  had  not  a 
single  friend;  the  morning  after  his  death  scores  of  voices 
cried,  "I  would  so  willingly  have  helped  him !"  So  easy  is  it 
to  play  a  charitable  part  when  no  outlay  is  involved.  The 
Chevalier  de  Valois,  in  the  spirit  of  revenge,  explained  the 
suicide.  It  was  a  boyish,  sincere,  and  noble  passion  for  Mile. 
Cormon  that  drove  Athanase  to  take  his  own  life.  And  when 
the  Chevalier  had  opened  Mme.  Granson's  eyes,  she  saw  a 
multitude  of  little  things  to  confirm  this  view.  The  story 
grew  touching ;  women  cried  over  it. 

Mme.  Granson  sorrowed  with  a  dumb  concentration  of  grief 
which  few  understood.  For  mothers  there  are  two  ways  of 
bereavement.  It  often  happens  that  every  one  else  can  under- 
stand the  greatness  of  her  loss;  her  boy  was  admired  and  ap- 
preciated, young  or  handsome,  with  fair  prospects  before  him 
or  brilliant  successes  won  already ;  every  one  regrets  him,  every 
one  shares  her  mourning,  and  the  grief  that  is  widely  spread 
is  not  so  hard  to  bear.  Then  there  is  the  loss  that  one  under- 
stands. No  one  else  knew  her  boy  and  all  that  he  was;  his 
smiles  were  for  her  alone ;  she,  and  she  only,  knew  how  much 
perished  with  that  life,  too  early  cut  short.  Such  sorrow  hides 
itself;  beside  that  darkness  other  woe  grows  pale;  no  words 
can  describe  it ;  and,  happily,  there  are  not  many  women  who 
know  what  it  is  to  have  those  heart-strings  finally  severed. 

Even  before  Mme.  du  Bousquier  came  back  to  town,  her 
obliging  friend,  Mme.  du  Eonceret,  went  to  fling  a  dead  body 
down  among  the  roses  of  her  new-wedded  happiness,  to  let 
her  know  what  a  love  she  had  refused.  Ever  so  gently  the 
Presidente  squeezed  a  shower  of  drops  of  wormwood  over  the 
honey  of  the  first  month  of  married  life.  And  as  Mme.  du 
Bousquier  returned,  it  so  happened  that  she  met  Mme.  Gran- 
son  at  the  corner  of  the  Val-Noble,  and  the  look  in  the  heart- 
broken mother's  eyes  cut  her  to  the  quick.  It  was  a  look  from 
a  woman  dying  of  grief,  a  thousand  curses  gathered  up  into 
one  glance  of  malediction,  a  thousand  sparks  in  one  gleam  of 
hate.  It  frightened  Mme.  du  Bousquier ;  it  boded  ill,  and  in- 
voked ill  upon  her. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  127 

Mme.  Granson  had  belonged  to  the  party  most  opposed  to 
the  cure ;  she  was  a  bitter  partisan  of  the  priest  of  St.  Leon- 
ard's ;  but  on  the  very  evening  of  the  tragedy  she  thought  of 
the  rigid  orthodoxy  of  her  own  party,  and  she  shuddered.  She 
herself  laid  her  son  in  his  shroud,  thinking  all  the  while  of  the 
Mother  of  the  Saviour ;  then  with  a  soul  quivering  with  agony, 
she  betook  herself  to  the  house  of  the  perjured  priest.  She 
found  him  busy,  the  humble  good  man,  storing  the  hemp  and 
flax  which  he  gave  to  poor  women  and  girls  to  spin,  so  that  no 
worker  should  ever  want  work,  a  piece  of  wise  charity  which 
had  saved  more  than  one  family  that  could  not  endure  to  beg. 
He  left  his  hemp  at  once  and  brought  his  visitor  into  the 
dining-room,  where  the  stricken  mother  saw  the  frugality  of 
her  own  housekeeping  in  the  supper  that  stood  waiting  for  the 
cure. 

"M.  1'Abbe,"  she  began,  "I  have  come  to  entreat  you " 

She  burst  into  tears,  and  could  not  finish  the  sentence. 

"I  know  why  you  have  come,"  answered  the  holy  man,  "and 
I  trust  to  you,  madame,  and  to  your  relative  Mme.  du  Bous- 
quier  to  make  it  right  with  his  Lordship  at  Seez.  Yes,  I  will 
pray  for  your  unhappy  boy;  yes,  I  will  say  masses;  but  we 
must  avoid  all  scandal,  we  must  give  no  occasion  to  ill-dis- 
posed people  to  gather  together  in  the  church.  ...  I 
myself,  alone,  and  at  night " 

"Yes,  yes,  as  you  wish,  if  only  he  is  laid  in  consecrated 
ground !"  she  said,  poor  mother ;  and  taking  the  priest's  hand 
in  hers,  she  kissed  it. 

And  so,  just  before  midnight,  a  bier  was  smuggled  into  the 
parish  church.  Four  young  men,  Athanase's  friends,  carried 
it.  There  were  a  few  little  groups  of  veiled  and  black-clad 
women,  Mme.  Granson's  friends,  and  some  seven  or  eight  lads 
that  had  been  intimate  with  the  dead.  The  bier  was  covered 
with  a  pall,  torches  were  lit  at  the  corners,  and  the  cure  read 
the  office  for  the  dead,  with  the  help  of  one  little  choir  boy 
whom  he  could  trust.  Then  the  suicide  was  buried,  noise- 
lessly, in  a  corner  of  the  churchyard,  and  a  dark  wooden  cross 
with  no  name  upon  it  marked  the  grave  for  the  mother. 

Athanase  lived  and  died  in  the  shadow. 
VOL.  7—31 


128  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Not  a  voice  was  raised  against  the  cure;  his  Lordship  at 
Seez  was  silent ;  the  mother's  piety  redeemed  her  son's  impious 
deed. 

Months  afterwards,  moved  by  the  inexplicable  thirst  of  sor- 
row which  drives  the  unhappy  to  steep  their  lips  in  their  bitter 
cup,  the  poor  woman  went  to  see  the  place  where  her  son 
drowned  himself.  Perhaps  she  felt  instinctively  that  there 
were  thoughts  to  be  gathered  under  the  poplar  tree ;  perhaps, 
too,  she  longed  to  see  all  that  his  eyes  had  seen  for  the  last 
time.  The  sight  of  the  spot  would  kill  many  a  mother ;  while 
again  there  are  some  who  can  kneel  and  worship  there. — There 
are  truths  on  which  the  patient  anatomist  of  human  nature 
cannot  insist  too  much;  verities  against  which  education  and 
laws  and  systems  of  philosophy  are  shattered.  It  is  absurd — 
let  us  repeat  it  again  and  again — to  try  to  lay  down  hard-and- 
fast  rules  in  matters  of  feeling;  the  personal  element  comes 
in  to  modify  feeling  as  it  arises,  and  a  man's  character  in- 
fluences his  most  instinctive  actions. 

Mme.  Granson,  by  the  river-side,  saw  a  woman  at  some  dis- 
tance— a  woman  who  came  nearer,  till  she  reached  the  fatal 
spot,  and  exclaimed: 

"Then  this  is  the  place  I" 

One  other  woman  in  the  world  wept  there  as  the  mother 
was  weeping,  and  that  woman  was  Suzanne.  She  had  heard 
of  the  tragedy  on  her  arrival  that  morning  at  the  Three  Moors. 
If  poor  Athanase  had  been  alive,  she  might  have  done  what 
poor  and  generous  people  dream  of  doing,  and  the  rich  never 
think  of  putting  in  practice ;  she  would  have  enclosed  a  thou- 
sand francs  with  the  words,  "Money  lent  by  your  father  to  a 
comrade  who  now  repays  you."  During  her  journey  Suzanne 
had  thought  of  this  angelic  way  of  giving.  She  looked  up 
and  saw  Mme.  Granson. 

"I  loved  him,"  she  said ;  then  she  hurried  away. 

Suzanne,  true  to  her  nature,  did  not  leave  Alengon  till  she 
had  changed  the  bride's  wreath  of  orange  flowers  to  water- 
lilies.  She  was  the  first  to  assert  that  Mme.  du  Bousquier 
would  be  Mile.  Cormon  as  long  as  she  lived.  And  with  one 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  129 

jibe  she  avenged  both  Athanase  and  the  dear  Chevalief  de 
Valois. 

Alengon  beheld  another  and  more  piteous  suicide.  Athanase 
was  promptly  forgotten  by  a  world  that  willingly,  and  indeed 
of  necessity,  forgets  its  dead  as  soon  as  possible ;  but  the  poor 
Chevalier's  existence  became  a  kind  of  death-in-life,  a  suicide 
continued  morning  after  morning  during  fourteen  years. 
Three  months  after  du  Bousquier's  marriage,  people  remarked, 
not  without  astonishment,  that  the  Chevalier's  linen  was  turn- 
ing yellow,  and  his  hair  irregularly  combed.  M.  de  Valois  was 
no  more,  for  a  disheveled  M.  de  Valois  could  not  be  said  to  be 
himself.  An  ivory  tooth  here  and  there  deserted  from  the 
ranks,  and  no  student  of  human  nature  could  discover  to  what 
corps  they  belonged,  whether  they  were  native  or  foreign,  ani- 
mal or  vegetable ;  nor  whether,  finally,  they  had  been  extracted 
by  old  age,  or  were  merely  lying  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind 
in  the  Chevalier's  dressing-table  drawer.  His  cravat  was 
wisped,  careless  of  elegance,  into  a  cord.  The  negroes'  heads 
grew  pale  for  lack  of  soap  and  water.  The  lines  on  the 
Chevalier's  face  deepened  into  wrinkles  and  darkened  as  his 
complexion  grew  more  and  more  like  parchment ;  his  neglected 
nails  were  sometimes  adorned  with  an  edge  of  black  velvet. 
Grains  of  snuff  lay  scattered  like  autumn  leaves  in  the  furrows 
of  his  waistcoat.  The  cotton  in  his  ears  was  but  seldom  re- 
newed. Melancholy,  brooding  on  his  brow,  spread  her  sallow 
hues  through  his  wrinkles ;  in  short,  time's  ravages,  hitherto 
so  carefully  repaired,  began  to  appear  in  rifts  and  cracks  in 
the  noble  edifice.  Here  was  proof  of  the  power  of  the  mind 
over  matter !  The  blond  cavalier,  the  jeune  premier,  fell  into 
decay  when  hope  failed. 

Hitherto  the  Chevalier's  nose  had  made  a  peculiarly  elegant 
appearance  in  public ;  never  had  it  been  seen  to  distil  a  drop 
of  amber,  to  let  fall  a  dark  wafer  of  moist  rappee ;  but  now, 
with  a  snuff -bedabbled  border  about  the  nostril?,  and  an  un- 
sightly stream  taking  advantage  of  the  channel  hollowed  above 
the  upper  lip,  that  nose,  which  no  longer  took  pains  to  please, 
revealed  the  immense  trouble  that  the  Chevalier  must  have 


130  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

formerly  taken  with  himself.  In  this  neglect  you  saw 
the  extent,  the  greatness  and  persistence  of  the  man's  designs 
upon  Mile.  Cormon.  The  Chevalier  was  crushed  by  a  puu 
from  du  Coudrai,  whose  dismissal  he  however  procured.  It 
was  the  first  instance  of  vindictiveness  on  the  part  of  the 
urbane  gentleman;  but  then  the  pun  was  atrocious,  worse  by 
a  hundred  cubits  than  any  other  ever  made  by  the  registrar 
of  mortgages.  M.  du  Coudrai,  observing  this  nasal  revolution, 
had  nicknamed  the  Chevalier  "Nerestan"  (nez-restant) . 

Latterly  the  Chevalier's  witticisms  had  been  few  and  far 
between ;  the  anecdotes  went  the  way  of  the  teeth,  but  his  appe- 
tite continued  as  good  as  ever;  out  of  the  great  shipwreck  of 
hopes  he  saved  nothing  but  his  digestion;  and  while  he  took 
his  snuff  feebly,  he  despatched  his  dinner  with  an  avidity 
alarming  to  behold.  You  may  mark  the  extent  of  the  havoc 
wrought  in  his  ideas  in  the  fact  that  his  colloquies  with  the 
Princess  Goritza  grew  less  and  less  frequent.  He  came  to 
Mile.  Armande's  one  day  with  a  false  calf  in  front  of  his  shins. 
The  bankruptcy  of  elegance  was  something  painful,  I  protest ; 
all  Alengon  was  shocked  by  it.  It  scared  society  to  see  an 
elderly  young  man  drop  suddenly  into  his  dotage,  and  from 
sheer  depression  of  spirits  pass  from  fifty  to  ninety  years. 
And  besides,  he  had  betrayed  his  secret.  He  had  been  waiting 
and  lying  in  wait  for  Mile.  Cormon.  For  ten  long  years,  per- 
severing sportsman  that  he  was,  he  had  been  stalking  the 
game,  and  he  had  missed  his  shot.  The  impotent  Eepublic 
had  won  a  victory  over  a  valiant  Aristocracy,  and  that  in  full 
flood  of  Restoration !  The  sham  had  triumphed  over  the  real ; 
spirit  was  vanquished  by  matter,  diplomacy  by  insurrection; 
and  as  a  final  misfortune,  a  grisette  in  an  outbreak  of  bad 
temper,  let  out  the  secret  of  the  Chevalier's  levees ! 

At  once  he  became  a  man  of  the  worst  character.  The 
Liberal  party  laid  all  du  Bousquier's  foundlings  on  the  Cheva- 
lier's doorstep,  while  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  of  Alengon 
boastingly  accepted  them;  laughed  and  cried,  "The  dear 
Chevalier !  What  else  could  he  do.?"  Saint-Germain  pitied 
the  Chevalier,  took  him  to  its  bosom,  and  smiled  more  than 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  131 

ever  upon  him;  while  an  appalling  amount  of  unpopularity 
was  drawn  down  upon  du  Bousquier's  head.  Eleven  persons 
seceded  from  the  salon  Cormon  and  went  over  to  the  d'Es- 
grignons. 

But  the  especial  result  of  the  marriage  was  a  more  sharply- 
marked  division  of  parties  in  Alenc.on.  The  Maison  d'Es- 
grignon  represented  undiluted  aristocracy ;  for  the  Troisvilles 
on  their  return  joined  the  clique.  The  Maison  Cormon,  skil- 
fully influenced  by  du  Bousquier,  was  not  exactly  Liberal, 
nor  yet  resolutely  Eoyalist,  but  of  that  unlucky  shade  of 
opinion  which  produced  the  221  members,  so  soon  as  the  po- 
litical struggle  took  a  definite  shape,  and  the  greatest,  most 
august,  and  only  real  power  of  Kingship  came  into  collision 
with  that  most  false,  fickle,  and  tyrannical  power  which,  when 
wielded  by  an  elective  body,  is  known  as  the  power  of  Parlia- 
ment. 

The  third  salon,  the  salon  du  Eonceret,  out  and  out  Eadical 
in  its  politics,  was  secretly  allied  with  the  Maison  Cormon. 

With  the  return  from  the  Prebaudet,  a  life  of  continual 
suffering  began  for  the  Abbe  de  Sponde.  He  kept  all  that  he 
endured  locked  within  his  soul,  uttering  not  a  word  of  com- 
plaint to  his  niece ;  but  to  Mile.  Armande  he  opened  his  heart, 
admitting  that  taking  one  folly  with  another,  he  should  have 
preferred  the  Chevalier.  M.  de  Valois  would  not  have  had 
the  bad  taste  to  thwart  a  feeble  old  man  with  but  a  few  days 
to  live.  Du  Bousquier  had  pulled  the  old  home  to  pieces. 

"Mademoiselle,"  the  old  Abbe  said  as  the  thin  tears  fell 
from  his  faded  old  eyes,  "the  lime-tree  walk,  where  I  have 
been  used  to  meditate  these  fifty  years,  is  gone.  My  dear  lime- 
trees  have  all  been  cut  down !  Just  as  I  am  nearing  the  end 
of  my  days  the  Eepublic  has  come  back  again  in  the  shape  of 
a  horrible  revolution  in  the  house." 

"Your  niece  must  be  forgiven,"  said  the  Chevalier  de 
Valois.  "Bepublicanism  is  a  youthful  error;  youth  goes  out 
to  seek  for  liberty,  and  finds  tyranny  in  its  worst  form — the 
tyranny  of  the  impotent  rabble.  Your  niece,  poor  thing,  has 
not  been  punished  by  the  thing  wherein  she  sinned." 


132  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"What  is  to  become  of  me  in  a  house  with  naked  women 
dancing  all  over  the  walls  ?  Where  shall  I  find  the  lime-tree 
walks  where  I  used  to  read  my  breviary?" 

Like  Kant,  who  lost  the  thread  of  his  ideas  when  somebody 
cut  down  the  fir-tree  on  which  he  fixed  his  eyes  as  he  medi- 
tated, the  good  Abbe  pacing  up  and  down  the  shadowless  al- 
leys could  not  say  his  prayers  with  the  same  uplifting  of  soul. 
Du  Bousquier  had  laid  out  an  English  garden ! 

"It  looked  nicer,"  Mme.  du  Bousquier  said.  Not  that  she 
really  thought  so,  but  the  Abbe  Couturier  had  authorized  her 
to  say  and  do  a  good  many  things  that  she  might  please  her 
husband. 

With  the  restoration,  all  the  glory  departed  from  the  old 
house,  and  all  its  quaint,  cheerful,  old-world  look.  If  the 
Chevalier  de  Valois'  neglect  of  his  person  might  be  taken  as 
a  sort  of  abdication,  the  bourgeois  majesty  of  the  salon  Cor- 
mon  passed  away  whe'n  the  drawing-room  was  decorated  with 
white  and  gold;  and  blue  silk  curtains  and  mahogany  otto- 
mans made  their  appearance.  In  the  dining-room,  fitted  up 
in  the  modern  style,  the  dishes  were  somehow  not  so  hot,  nor 
the  dinners  quite  what  they  had  been.  M.  du  Coudrai  said 
that  the  puns  stuck  fast  in  his  throat  when  he  saw  the  painted 
figures  on  the  walls  and  felt  their  eyes  upon  him.  Without, 
the  house  was  provincial  as  ever ;  within,  the  forage-contractor 
of  the  Directory  made  himself  everywhere  felt.  All  over  the 
house  you  saw  the  stockbroker's  bad  taste;  stucco  pilasters, 
glass  doors,  classic  cornices,  arid  decoration — a  medley  of 
every  imaginable  style  and  ill-assorted  magnificence. 

Alengon  criticised  such  unheard-of  luxury  for  a  fortnight, 
and  grew  proud  of  it  at  the  end  of  a  few  months.  Several 
rich  manufacturers  refurnished  their  houses  in  consequence, 
and  set  up  fine  drawing-rooms.  Modern  furniture  made  its 
appearance;  astral  lamps  might  even  be  seen  in  some  places. 

The  Abbe  de  Sponde  was  the  first  to  see  the  unhappiness 
which  lay  beneath  the  surface  of  his  dear  child's  married  life. 
The  old  dignified  simplicity  which  ruled  their  way  of  living 
was  gone;  du  Bousquier  gave  two  balls  every  month  in  the 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  133 

course  of  the  first  winter.  The  venerable  house — oh,  to  think 
of  it ! — echoed  with  the  sound  of  violins  and  worldly  gaiety. 
The  Abbe,  on  his  knees,  prayed  while  the  merriment  lasted. 

The  politics  of  the  sober  salon  underwent  a  gradual  change 
for  the  worse.  The  Abbe  de  Sponde  divined  du  Bousquier; 
he  shuddered  at  his  nephew's  dictatorial  tone.  He  saw  tears 
in  his  niece's  eyes  when  the  disposal  of  her  fortune  was  taken 
out  of  her  hands;  her  husband  left  her  only  the  control  of 
the  linen,  the  table,  and  such  things  as  fall  to  a  woman's  lot. 
Rose  had  no  more  orders  to  give.  Jacquelin,  now  coachman 
exclusively,  took  his  orders  from  no  one  but  his  master ;  Rene, 
the  groom,  did  likewise,  so  did  the  man-cook  imported  from 
Paris;  Mariette  was  only  the  kitchen-maid;  and  Mme.  du 
Bousquier  had  no  one  to  tyrannize  over  but  Josette. 

Does  any  one  know  how  much  it  costs  to  give  up  the  de- 
licious exercise  of  authority  ?  If  the  triumph  of  will  is  one  of 
the  most  intoxicating  of  the  great  man's  joys,  to  have  one's 
own  way  is  the  whole  life  of  narrow  natures.  No  one  but  a 
cabinet  minister  fallen  into  disgrace  can  sympathize  with 
Mme.  du  Bousquier's  bitter  pain  when  she  saw  herself  reduced 
to  a  cipher  in  her  own  house.  She  often  drove  out  when  she 
would  rather  have  stayed  at  home;  she  saw  company  which 
she  did  not  like ;  she  who  had  been  free  to  spend  as  she  pleased, 
and  had  never  spent  at  all,  had  lost  the  control  of  the  money 
which  she  loved.  Impose  limits,  and  who  does  not  wish  to  go 
beyond  them  ?  Is  there  any  sharper  suffering  than  that  which 
comes  of  thwarted  will  ? 

But  these  beginnings  were  the  roses  of  life.  Every  con- 
cession was  counseled  by  poor  Rose's  love  for  her  husband, 
and  at  first  du  Bousquier  behaved  admirably  to  his  wife.  He 
was  very  good  to  her;  he  brought  forward  sufficient  reasons 
for  every  encroachment.  The  room,  so  long  left  empty,  echoed 
with  the  voices  of  husband  and  wife  in  fireside  talk.  And  so, 
for  the  first  few  years  of  married  life,  Mme.  du  Bousquier 
wore  a  face  of  content,  and  that  little  air  of  emancipation 
and  mystery  often  seen  in  a  young  wife  after  a  marriage  of 
love.  She  had  no  more  trouble  with  "heated  blood."  This 


134  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

countenance  of  hers  routed  scoffers,  gave  the  lie  to  gossip  con- 
cerning du  Bousquier,  and  put  observers  of  human  nature  at 
fault. 

Eose  Marie  Victoire  was  so  afraid  lest  she  should  lose  her 
husband's  affection  or  drive  him  from  her  side  by  setting  her 
will  against  his,  that  she  would  have  made  any  sacrifice,  even 
of  her  uncle  if  need  be.  And  the  Abbe  de  Sponde,  deceived 
by  Mme.  du  Bousquier's  poor  foolish  little  joys,  bore  his  own 
discomforts  the  more  easily  for  the  thought  that  his  niece  was 
happy. 

At  first  Alengon  shared 'this  impression.  But  there  was 
one  man  less  easy  to  deceive  than  all  the  rest  of  Alengon  put 
together.  The  Chevalier  de  Valois  had  taken  refuge  on  the 
Mons  Sacer  of  the  most  aristocratic  section,  and  spent  his  time 
with  the  d'Esgrignons.  He  lent  an  ear  to  the  scandal  and 
tittle-tattle ;  night  and  day  he  studied  how  to  have  his  revenge 
before  he  died.  The  perpetrator  of  puns  had  been  already 
brought  low,  and  he  meant  to  stab  du  Bousquier  to  the  heart. 

The  poor  Abbe,  knowing  as  he  did  the  cowardliness  of  his 
niece's  first  and  last  love,  shuddered  as  he  guessed  his  nephew's 
hypocritical  nature  and  the  man's  intrigues.  Du  Bousquier, 
be  it  said,  put  some  constraint  upon  himself;  he  had  an  eye 
to  the  Abbe's  property,  and  had  no  wish  to  annoy  his  wife's 
uncle  in  any  way,  yet  he  dealt  the  old  man  his  death-blow. 

If  you  can  translate  the  word  Intolerance  by  Firmness  of 
Principle;  if  you  can  forbear  to  condemn  in  the  old  Roman 
Catholic  Vicar-General  that  stoicism  which  Scott  has  taught 
us  to  revere  in  Jeanie  Deans'  Puritan  father;  if,  finally,  you 
can  recognize  in  the  Eoman  Church  the  nobility  of  a  Potius 
mori  quam  fosdari  which  you  admire  in  a  Republican — then 
you  can  understand  the  anguish  that  rent  the  great  Abbe  de 
Sponde  when  he  saw  the  apostate  in  his  nephew's  drawing- 
room  ;  when  he  was  compelled  to  meet  the  renegade,  the  back- 
slider, the  enemy  of  the  Church,  the  aider  and  abettor  of  the 
Oath  to  the  Constitution.  It  was  du  Bousquier's  private  ambi- 
tion to  lord  it  over  the  countryside ;  and  as  a  first  proof  of  his 
power,  he  determined  to  reconcile  the  officiating  priest  of  St. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  135 

Leonard's  with  the  cure  of  Alengon.  He  gained  his  object. 
His  wife  imagined  that  peace  had  been  made  where  the  stern 
Abbe  saw  no  peace,  but  surrender  of  principle.  M.  de  Sponde 
was  left  alone  in  the  faith.  The  Bishop  came  to  du  Bous- 
quier's  house,  and  appeared  satisfied  with  the  cessation  of  hos- 
tilities. The  Abbe  Francois'  goodness  had  conquered  every 
one — every  one  except  the  old  Roman  of  the  Roman  Church, 
who  might  have  cried  with  Cornelie,  "Ah,  God !  what  virtues 
you  make  me  hate !"  The  Abbe  de  Sponde  died  when  ortho- 
doxy expired  in  the  diocese. 

In  1819  the  Abbe  de  Sponde's  property  raised  Mme.  du 
Bousquier's  income  from  land  to  twenty-five  thousand  livres 
without  counting  the  Prebaudet  or  the  house  in  the  Val- 
Noble.  About  the  same  time  du  Bousquier  returned  the 
amount  of  his  wife's  savings  (which  she  had  made  over  to 
him),  and  instructed  her  to  invest  the  moneys  in  purchases 
of  land  near  the  Prebaudet,  so  that  the  estate,  including  the 
Abbe  de  Sponde's  adjoining  property,  was  one  of  the  largest 
in  the  department.  As  for  du  Bousquier,  he  invested  his 
money  with  the  Kellers,  and  made  a  journey  to  Paris  four 
times  a  year.  Nobody  knew  the  exact  amount  of  his  private 
fortune,  but  at  this  time  he  was  supposed  to  be  one  of  the 
wealthiest  men  in  the  department  of  the  Orne.  A  dexterous 
man,  and  the  permanent  candidate  of  the  Liberal  party,  he 
always  lost  his  election  by  seven  or  eight  votes  under  the 
Restoration.  Ostensibly  he  repudiated  his  connection  with 
the  Liberals,  offering  himself  as  a  Ministerial-Royalist  candi- 
date; but  although  he  succeeded  in  gaining  the  support  of 
the  Congregation  and  of  the  magistrature,  the  repugnance  of 
the  administration  was  too  strong  to  be  overcome. 

Then  the  rabid  Republican,  frantic  with  ambition,  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  beginning  a  struggle  with  the  Royalism 
and  Aristocracy  of  the  country,  just  as  they  were  carrying  all 
before  them.  He  gained  the  support  of  the  clergy  by  an  ap- 
pearance of  piety  very  skilfully  kept  up;  always  going  with 
his  wife  to  mass,  giving  money  to  the  convents,  and  support- 
ing the  confraternity  of  the  Sacre-Cceur;  and  whenever  a  dis« 


136  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

pute  arose  between  the  clergy  and  the  town,  or  the  department, 
or  the  State,  he  was  very  careful  to  take  the  clerical  side. 
And  so,  while  secretly  supported  by  the  Liberals,  he  gained 
the  influence  of  the  Church ;  and  as  a  Constitutional-Koyalist 
kept  close  beside  the  aristocratic  section,  the  better  to  ruin 
it.  And  ruin  it  he  did.  He  was  always  on  the  watch  for  any 
mistake  on  the  part  of  those  high  in  rank  or  in  office  under 
the  Government;  with  the  support  of  the  bourgeoisie  he  car- 
ried out  all  the  improvements  which  the  nobles  and  officials 
ought  to  have  undertaken  and  directed,  if  the  imbecile  jeal- 
ousies of  place  had  not  frustrated  their  efforts.  Constitu- 
tional opinion  carried. him  through  in  the  affair  of  the  cure, 
in  the  theatre  question,  and  in  all  the  various  schemes  of  im- 
provement which  du  Bousquier  first  prompted  the  Liberals  to 
make,  and  afterwards  supported  in  the  course  of  debate,  de- 
claring himself  in  favor  of  any  measures  for  the  good  of  the 
country.  He  brought  about  an  industrial  revolution ;  and  his 
detestation  of  certain  families  on  the  highroad  to  Brittany 
rapidly  increased  the  material  prosperity  of  the  province. 

And  so  he  paved  the  way  for  his  revenge  upon  the  gens  a 
chateaux  in  general,  and  the  d'Esgrignons  in  particular; 
some  day,  not  so  very  far  distant,  he  would  plunge  a  poisoned 
blade  into  the  very  heart  of  the  clique.  He  found  capital  to 
revive  the  manufacture  of  point  d'Alengon  and  to  increase  the 
linen  trade.  Alengon  began  to  spin  its  own  flax  by  machinery. 
And  while  his  name  was  associated  with  all  these  interests, 
and  written  in  the  hearts  of  the  masses,  while  he  did  all  that 
Eoyalty  left  undone,  du  Bousquier  risked  not  a  farthing  of 
his  own.  With  his  means,  he  could  afford  to  wait  while 
enterprising  men  with  little  capital  were  obliged  to  give  up 
and  leave  the  results  of  their  labors  to  luckier  successors.  He 
posed  as  a  banker.  A  Laffitte  on  a  small  scale,  he  became  a 
sleeping  partner  in  all  new  inventions,  taking  security  for  his 
money.  And  as  a  public  benefactor,  he  did  remarkably  well 
for  himself.  He  was  a  promoter  of  insurance  companies,  a 
patron  of  new  public  conveyances;  he  got  up  memorials  for 
necessary  roads  and  bridges.  The  authorities,  being  left  be- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  137 

hincl  in  this  way,  regarded  this  activity  in  the  light  of  an  en- 
croachment; they  blundered,  and  put  themselves  in  the 
wrong,  for  the  prefecture  was  obliged  to  give  way  for  the  good 
of  the  country. 

Du  Bousquier  embittered  the  provincial  noblesse  against 
the  court  nobles  and  the  peerage.  He  helped,  in  short,  to 
bring  it  to  pass  that  a  very  large  body  of  Constitutional- 
Royalists  supported  the  Journal  des  Debats  and  M.  de  Cha- 
teaubriand in  a  contest  with  the  throne.  It  was  an  ungrateful 
opposition  based  on  ignoble  motives  which  contributed  to 
bring  about  the  triumph  of  the  bourgeoisie  and  the  press  in 
1830.  Wherefore  du  Bousquier,  like  those  whom  he  repre- 
sented, had  the  pleasure  of  watching  a  funeral  procession  of 
Royalty*  pass  through  their  district  without  a  single  demon- 
stration of  sympathy  from  a  population  alienated  from  them 
in  ways  so  numerous  that  they  cannot  be  indicated  here. 

Then  the  old  Eepublican,  with  all  that  weight  of  masses 
on  his  conscience,  hauled  down  the  white  flag  above  the  town- 
hall  amid  the  applause  of  the  people.  For  fifteen  years  he 
had  acted  a  part  to  satisfy  his  vendetta,  and  no  man  in  France 
beholding  the  new  throne  raised  in  August  1830  could  feel 
more  intoxicated  than  he  with  the  joy  of  revenge.  For  him, 
the  succession  of  the  younger  branch  meant  the  triumph  of  the 
Eevolution ;  for  him,  the  hoisting  of  the  Tricolor  flag  was  the 
resurrection  of  the  Mountain ;  and  this  time  the  nobles  should 
be  brought  low  by  a  surer  method  than  the  guillotine,  in  that 
its  action  should  be  less  violent.  A  peerage  for  life  only ;  a  Na- 
tional Guard  which  stretches  the  marquis  and  the  grocer  from 
the  corner  shop  on  the  same  camp  bed ;  the  abolition  of  entail 
demanded  by  a  bourgeois  barrister;  a  Catholic  Church  de- 
prived of  its  supremacy;  in  short,  all  the  legislative  inven- 
tions of  August  1830  simply  meant  for  du  Bousquier  the 
principles  of  1793  carried  out  in  a  most  ingenious  manner. 

Du  Bousquier  has  been  receiver-general  of  taxes  since  1830. 
He  relied  for  success  upon  his  old  connections  with  Egalite 
Orleans  (father  of  Louis  Philippe)  and  M.  de  Folman,  stew- 

•Charles  X.  on  his  way  to  England. 


138  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

ard  of  the  Dowager  Duchess.  He  is  supposed  to  have  an  in- 
come of  eighty  thousand  livres.  In  the  eyes  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen,  Monsieur  du  Bousquier  is  a  man  of  substance, 
honorable,  upright,  obliging,  unswerving  in  his  principles. 
To  him,  Alengon  owes  her  participation  in  the  industrial 
movement  which  makes  her,  as  it  were,  the  first  link  in  a 
chain  which  some  day  perhaps  may  bind  Brittany  to  the  state 
of  things  which  we  nickname  "modern  civilization."  In  1816 
Alengon  boasted  but  two  carriages,  properly  speaking;  ten 
years  afterwards,  caleches,  coupes,  landaus,  cabriolets,  and 
tilburies  were  rolling  about  the  streets  without  causing  any 
astonishment.  At  first  the  townsmen  and  landowners  were 
alarmed  by  the  rise  of  prices,  afterwards  they  discovered  that 
the  increased  expenditure  produced  a  corresponding  increase 
in  their  incomes. 

Du  Eonceret's  prophetic  words,  "Du  Bousquier  is  a  very 
strong  man,"  were  now  taken  up  by  the  country.  But,  unfor- 
tunately for  du  Bousquier's  wife,  the  remark  is  a  shocking 
misnomer.  Du  Bousquier  the  husband  is  a  very  different 
person  from  du  Bousquier  the  public  man  and  politician.  The 
great  citizen,  so  liberal  in  his  opinions,  so  easy  humored,  so 
full  of  love  for  his  country,  is  a  despot  at  home,  and  has  not 
a  particle  of  love  for  his  wife.  The  Cromwell  of  the  Val-Noble 
is  profoundly  astute,  hypocritical,  and  crafty;  he  behaves  to 
those  of  his  own  household  as  he  behaved  to  the  aristocrats  on 
whom  he  fawned,  until  he  could  cut  their  throats.  Like  his 
friend  Bernadotte,  he  has  an  iron  hand  in  a  velvet  glove.  His 
wife  gave  him  no  children.  Suzanne's  epigram,  and  the 
Chevalier  de  Valois'  insinuations,  were  justified ;  but  the  Lib- 
erals and  Constitutional-Eoyalists  among  the  townspeople, 
the  little  squires,  the  magistrature,  and  the  "clericals"  (as  the 
Constitutionnel  used  to  say),  all  threw  the  blame  upon  Mme. 
du  Bousquier.  M.  du  Bousquier  had  married  such  an  elderly 
wife,  they  said;  and  besides,  how  lucky  it  was  for  her,  poor 
thing,  for  at  her  age  bearing  a  child  meant  such  a  risk.  If, 
in  periodically  recurrent  despair,  Mme.  du  Bousquier  confided 
her  troubles  with  tears  to  Mme.  du  Coudrai  or  Mme.  du 
Konceret — 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  139 

"Why  you  must  be  mad,  dear!"  those  ladies  would  reply. 
"You  do  not  know  what  you  want ;  a  child  would  be  the  death 
of  you." 

Men  like  M.  du  Coudrai,  who  followed  du  Bousquier's  lead 
because  they  fastened  their  hopes  to  his  success,  would  prompt 
their  wives  to  sing  du  Bousquier's  praises;  and  Hose  must 
listen  to  speeches  that  wounded  like  a  stab. 

"You  are  very  fortunate,  dear,  to  have  such  a  capable  hus- 
band; some  men  have  no  energy,  and  can  neither  manage 
their  own  property  nor  bring  up  their  children ;  you  are  spared 
these  troubles." 

Or,  "Your  husband  is  making  you  queen  of  the  district, 
fair  lady.  He  will  never  leave  you  at  a  loss;  he  does  every- 
thing in  Alengon." 

"But  I  should  like  him  to  take  less  trouble  for  the  public 
and  rather v 

"My  dear  Mme.  du  Bousquier,  you  are  very  hard  to  please ; 
all  the  women  envy  you  your  husband." 

Unjustly  treated  by  a  world  which  condemned  her  without 
a  hearing,  she  found  ample  scope  for  the  exercise  of  Christian 
virtues  in  her  inner  life.  She  who  lived  in  tears  always 
turned  a  serene  face  upon  the  world.  For  her,  pious  soul, 
was  there  not  sin  in  the  thought  which  was  always  pecking  at 
her  heart — "I  loved  the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  and  I  am  du 
Bousquier's  wife !"  Athanase's  love  rose  up  like  a  remorse  to 
haunt  her  dreams.  After  her  uncle's  death  and  the  revelation 
of  all  that  he  had  suffered,  the  future  grew  yet  more  dreadful 
as  she  thought  how  grieved  he  would  have  been  by  such 
changes  of  political  and  religious  doctrine.  Unhappiness  often 
falls  like  a  thunderbolt,  as  upon  Mme.  Granson,  for  instance ; 
but  Rose's  misery  gradually  widened  out  before  her  as  a  drop 
of  oil  spreads  over  stuff,  slowly  saturating  every  fibre. 

The  Chevalier  de  Valois  was  the  malignant  artificer  of  her 
misfortune.  He  had  it  on  his  mind  to  snatch  his  opportunity 
and  undeceive  Mme.  du  Bousquier  as  to  one  of  her  articles  of 
faith ;  for  the  Chevalier,  a  man  of  experience,  saw  through  dii 
Bousquier  the  married  man,  as  he  had  seen  through  du  Bous-- 


140  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

quier  the  bachelor.  But  it  was  not  easy  to  take  the  astute 
Bepublican  by  surprise.  His  salon,  naturally,  was  closed  to 
the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  as  to  all  others  who  discontinued 
their  visits  to  the  Maison  Cormon  at  the  time  of  his  marriage. 
And  besides,  du  Bousquier  was  above  the  reach  of  ridicule; 
he  possessed  an  immense  fortune,  he  was  king  of  Alengon; 
and  as  for  his  wife,  he  cared  about  her  much  as  Eichard  III. 
might  have  cared  for  the  loss  of  the  horse  with  which  he 
thought  to  win  the  battle.  To  please  her  husband,  Mme.  du 
Bousquier  had  broken  with  the  Maison  d'Esgrignon,  but  some- 
times, when  he  was  away  at  Paris  for  a  few  days,  she  paid 
Mile.  Armande  a  visit. 

Two  years  after  Mme.  du  Bousquier's  marriage,  just  at  the 
time  of  the  Abbe's  death,  Mile.  Armande  went  up  to  her  as 
she  came  out  of  church.  Both  women  had  been  to  St.  Leon- 
ard's to  hear  a  mess&  noire  said  for  M.  de  Sponde ;  and  Mile. 
Armande,  a  generous-natured  woman,  thinking  that  she  ought 
to  try  to  comfort  the  weeping  heiress,  walked  with  her  as  far 
as  the  Parade.  From  the  Parade,  still  talking  of  the  beloved 
and  lost,  they  came  to  the  forbidden  Hotel  d'Esgrignon,  and 
Mile.  Armande  drew  Mme.  du  Bousquier  into  the  house  by 
the  charm  of  her  talk.  Perhaps  the  poor  broken-hearted 
woman  loved  to  speak  of  her  uncle  with  some  one  whom  her 
uncle  had  loved  so  well.  And  besides,  she  wished  to  receive 
the  old  Marquis'  greetings  after  an  interval  of  nearly  three 
years.  It  was  half -past  one  o'clock;  the  Chevalier  de  Valois 
had  come  to  dinner,  and  with  a  bow  he  held  out  both  hands. 

"Ah !  well,  dear,  good,  and  well-beloved  lady,"  he  said  trem- 
ulously, "we  have  lost  our  sainted  friend.  Your  mourning  is 
ours.  Yes ;  your  loss  is  felt  as  deeply  here  as  under  your  roof 
— more  deeply,"  he  added,  alluding  to  du  Bousquier. 

A  funeral  oration  followed,  to  which  every  one  contributed 
his  phrase;  then  the  Chevalier,  gallantly  taking  the  lady's 
hand,  drew  it  under  his  arm,  pressed  it  in  the  most  adorable 
way,  and  led  her  aside  into  the  embrasure  of  a  window. 

"You  are  happy,  at  any  rate  ?"  he  asked  with  a  fatherly  tone 
in  his  voice. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  141 

"Yes"  she  said,  lowering  her  eyes. 

Hearing  that  "Yes,"  Mme.  de  Troisville  (daughter  of  the 
Princess  Scherbelloff)  and  the  old  Marquise  de  Casteran  came 
up;  Mile.  Armande  also  joined  them,  and  the  group  took  a 
turn  in  the  garden  till  dinner  should  be  ready.  Mme.  du 
Bousquier  was  so  stupid  with  grief  that  she  did  not  notice 
that  a  little  conspiracy  of  curiosity  was  on  foot  among  the 
ladies. 

"We  have  her  here,  let  us  find  out  the  answer  to  the  riddle," 
the  glances  exchanged  among  them  seemed  to  say. 

"You  should  have  children  to  make  your  happiness  com- 
plete," began  Mile.  Armande,  "a  fine  boy  like  my  nephew 
» 

Tears  came  to  Mme.  du  Bousquier's  eyes. 

"I  have  heard  it  said  that  it  was  entirely  your  own  fault 
if  you  had  none,"  said  the  Chevalier,  "that  you  were  afraid  of 
the  risk." 

"I!"  she  cried,  innocently;  "I  would  endure  a  hundred 
years  in  hell  to  have  a  child." 

The  subject  thus  broached,  Mme.  la  Vicomtesse  de  Trois- 
ville and  the  dowager  Marquise  de  Casteran  steered  the  con- 
versation with  such  exceeding  tact,  that  they  entangled  poor 
Rose  until,  all  unsuspectingly,  she  revealed  the  secrets  of  her 
married  life.  Mile.  Armande  laid  her  hand  on  the  Chevalier's 
arm,  and  they  left  the  three  matrons  to  talk  confidentially. 
Then  Mme.  du  Bousquier's  mind  was  disabused  with  regard 
to  the  deception  of  her  marriage;  and  as  she  was  still  "a 
natural,"  she  amused  her  confidantes  with  her  irresistible 
naivete.  Before  long  the  whole  town  was  in  the  secret  of  du 
Bousquier's  manoeuvres,  and  knew  that  Mile.  Cormon's  mar- 
riage was  a  mockery;  but  after  the  first  burst  of  laughter, 
Mme.  du  Bousquier  gained  the  esteem  and  sympathy  of  every 
woman  in  it.  While  Mile.  Cormon  rushed  unsuccessfully  at 
opportunities  of  establishing  herself,  every  one  had  laughed ; 
but  people  admired  her  when  they  knew  the  position  in  which 
she  was  placed  by  the  severity  of  her  religious  principles. 
"Poor,  dear  Mile.  Cormon !"  was  replaced  by  "poor  Mme.  du 
Bousquier  I" 


142  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

In  this  way  the  Chevalier  made  du  Bousquier  both  ridicu- 
lous and  very  unpopular  for  a  while,  but  the  ridicule  died 
down  with  time;  the  slander  languished  when  everybody  had 
cut  his  joke;  and  besides,  it  seemed  to  many  persons  that  the 
mute  Eepublican  had  a  right  to  retire  at  the  age  of  fifty-seven. 
But  if  du  Bousquier  previously  hated  the  Maison  d'Esgrignon, 
this  incident  so  increased  his  rancor  that  he  was  pitiless  after- 
wards in  the  day  of  vengeance.  Mme.  du  Bousquier  received 
orders  never  to  set  foot  in  that  house  again;  and  by  way  of 
reprisals,  he  inserted  the  following  paragraph  in  the  Orne 
Courier,  his  own  new  paper : 

"A  EEWARD  of  rente  to  bring  in  a  thousand  francs  will  be 
paid  to  any  person  who  shall  prove  that  one  M.  de  Pombreton 
existed  either  before  or  after  the  Emigration." 

Though  Mme.  du  Bousquier's  happiness  was  essentially 
negative,  she  saw  that  her  marriage  had  its  advantages.  Was 
it  not  better  to  take  an  interest  in  the  most  remarkable  man 
in  the  place  than  to  live  alone  ?  After  all,  du  Bousquier  was 
better  than  the  dogs,  cats,  and  canaries  on  which  old  maids 
centre  their  affections ;  and  his  feeling  for  his  wife  was  some- 
thing more  genuine  and  disinterested  than  the  attachment 
of  servants,  confessors,  and  legacy-hunters.  At  a  still  later 
period  she  looked  upon  her  husband  as  an  instrument  in  God's 
hands  to  punish  her  for  the  innumerable  sins  which  she  dis- 
covered in  her  desires  for  marriage;  she  regarded  herself  as 
justly  rewarded  for  the  misery  which  she  had  brought  on 
Mme.  Granson,  and  for  hastening  her  own  uncle's  end.  Obedi- 
ent to  a  religious  faith  which  bade  her  kiss  the  rod,  she  praised 
her  husband  in  public;  but  in  the  confessional,  or  over  her 
prayers  at  night,  she  often  wept  and  entreated  God  to  pardon 
the  apostate  who  said  one  thing  and  thought  another,  who 
wished  for  the  destruction  of  the  order  of  nobles  and  the 
Church,  the  two  religions  of  the  Maison  Cormon.  Living  in 
an  uncongenial  atmosphere,  compelled  to  suppress  herself, 
compelled  likewise  by  a  sense  of  duty  to  make  her  husband 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     143 

happy,  and  to  injure  him  in  nothing,  she  became  attached  to 
him  with  an  indefinable  affection,  perhaps  the  result  of  use 
and  wont.  Her  life  was  a  perpetual  contradiction.  She  felt 
the  strongest  aversion  for  the  conduct  and  opinions  of  the 
man  she  had  married,  and  yet  it  was  her  duty  to  take  a  tender 
interest  in  him ;  and  if,  as  often  happened,  du  Bousquier  ate 
her  preserves,  or  thought  that  the  dinner  was  good,  she  was 
in  the  seventh  heaven.  She  saw  that  his  comfort  was  secured 
even  in  the  smallest  details.  If  he  left  the  wrapper  of  his 
newspaper  on  the  table,  there  it  must  remain. 

"Leave  it,  Bene/'  she  would  say,  "the  master  had  some 
reason  for  putting  it  there." 

'  Did  du  Bousquier  go  on  a  journey  ?  She  fidgeted  over  his 
traveling  cloak  and  his  linen;  she  took  the  most  minute  pre- 
cautions for  his  material  comfort.  If  he  was  going  over  to  the 
Prebaudet,  she  began  to  consult  the  weather  glass  twenty-four 
hours  beforehand.  A  sleeping  dog  has  eyes  and  ears  for  his 
master,  and  so  it  was  with  Mme.  du  Bousquier;  she  used  to 
watch  the  expression  of  her  husband's  face  to  read  his  wishes. 
And  if  that  burly  personage,  vanquished  by  duty-prescribed 
love,  caught  her  by  the  waist  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead, 
exclaiming,  "You  are  a  good  woman !"  tears  of  joy  filled  the 
poor  creature's  eyes.  It  is  probable  that  du  Bousquier  felt  it 
incumbent  upon  him  to  make  compensations  which  won  Hose 
Marie  Victoire's  respect ;  for  the  Church  does  not  require  that 
an  assumption  of  wifely  devotion  should  be  carried  quite  so 
far  as  Mme.  du  Bousquier  thought  necessary.  And  yet  when 
she  listened  to  the  rancorous  talk  of  men  who  took  Constitu- 
tional-Eoyalism  as  a  cloak  for  their  real  opinions,  the  woman 
of  saintly  life  uttered  not  a  word.  She  foresaw  the  downfall 
of  the  Church,  and  shuddered.  Very  occasionally  she  would 
hazard  some  foolish  remark,  promptly  cut  in  two  by  a  look 
from  du  Bousquier.  In  the  end  this  life  at  cross-purposes  had 
a  benumbing  influence  on  Mme.  du  Bousquier's  wits;  she 
found  it  both  simpler  and  more  dignified  to  keep  her  mind  to 
herself,  and  led  outwardly  a  mere  animal  existence.  She  grew 

slavishly  submissive,  making  a  virtue  of  the  abject  condition 
VOL.  7—32 


144  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

to  which  her  husband  had  reduced  her ;  she  did  her  husband's 
will  without  murmuring  in  the  least.  The  timid  sheep  walked 
in  the  way  marked  out  by  the  shepherd;  never  leaving  the 
bosom  of  the  Church,  practising  austerities,  without  a  thought 
of  the  Devil,  his  pomps  and  works.  And  so,  within  herself 
she  united  the  purest  Christian  virtues,  and  du  Bousquier 
truly  was  one  of  the  luckiest  men  in  the  kingdom  of  France 
and  Navarre. 

"She  will  be  a  simpleton  till  her  last  sigh,"  said  the  cruel 
ex-registrar  (now  cashiered).  But,  all  the  same,  he  dined 
at  her  table  twice  a  week. 

The  story  would  be  singularly  incomplete  if  it  omitted  to 
mention  a  last  coincidence;  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  and 
Suzanne's  mother  died  at  the  same  time. 

The  Chevalier  died  with  the  Monarchy  in  August  1830. 
He  went  to  Nonancourt  to  join  the  funeral  procession ;  piously 
making  one  of  the  King's  escort  to  Cherbourg,  with  the  Trois- 
villes,  Casterans,  d'Esgrignons,  Verneuils,  and  the  rest.  He 
had  brought  with  him  his  little  hoard  of  savings  and  the 
principal  which  brought  him  in  his  annual  income,  some  fifty 
thousand  francs  in  all,  which  he  offered  to  a  faithful  friend 
of  the  elder  branch  to  convey  to  His  Majesty.  His  own  death 
was  very  near,  he  said;  the  money  had  come  to  him  through 
the  King's  bounty ;  and,  after  all,  the  property  of  the  last  of 
the  Valois  belonged  to  the  Crown.  History  does  not  say 
whether  the  Chevalier's  fervent  zeal  overcame  the  repugnance 
of  the  Bourbon  who  left  his  fair  kingdom  of  France  without 
taking  one  farthing  into  exile;  but  the  King  surely  must 
have  been  touched  by  the  old  noble's  devotion ;  and  this  much 
is  at  least  certain — Cesarine,  M.  de  Valois'  universal  legatee, 
inherited  scarcely  six  hundred  livres  of  income  at  his  death. 
The  Chevalier  came  back  to  Alengon,  broken-hearted  and 
spent  with  the  fatigue  of  the  journey,  to  die  just  as  Charles 
X.  set  foot  on  foreign  soil. 

Mme.  du  Val- Noble  and  her  journalist  protector,  fearing 
reprisals  from  the  Liberals,  were  glad  of  an  excuse  to  return 
incognito  to  the  village  where  the  old  mother  died.  Suzanne 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  145 

Attended  the  sale  of  the  Chevalier's  furniture  to  buy  some  relic 
of  her  first  good  friend,  and  ran  up  the  price  of  the  snuff-box 
to  the  enormous  amount  of  a  thousand  francs.  The  Princess 
Goritza's  portrait  alone  was  worth  that  sum.  Two  years 
afterwards,  a  young  man  of  fashion,  struck  with  its  marvelous 
workmanship,  obtained  it  of  Suzanne  for  his  collection  of 
fine  eighteenth  century  snuff-boxes;  and  so  the  delicate  toy 
which  had  been  the  confidant  of  the  most  courtly  of  love 
affairs,  and  the  delight  of  an  old  age  till  its  very  end,  is  now 
brought  into  the  semi-publicity  of  a  collection.  If  the  dead 
could  know  what  is  done  after  they  are  gone,  there  would  be 
a  flush  at  this  moment  on  the  Chevalier's  left  cheek. 

If  this  history  should  inspire  owners  of  sacred  relics  with 
a  holy  fear,  and  set  them  drafting  codicils  to  provide  for  the 
fate  of  such  precious  souvenirs  of  a  happiness  now  no  more, 
by  giving  them  into  sympathetic  hands ;  even  so  an  enormous 
service  would  have  been  rendered  to  the  chivalrous  and  senti- 
mental section  of  the  public;  but  it  contains  another  and  a 
much  more  exalted  moral.  .  .  .  Does  it  not  show  that  a 
new  branch  of  education  is  needed?  Is  it  not  an  appeal  to 
the  so  enlightened  solicitude  of  Ministers  of  Public  Instruc- 
tion to  create  chairs  of  anthropology,  a  science  in  which  Ger- 
many is  outstripping  us  ? 

Modern  myths  are  even  less  understood  of  the  people  than 
ancient  myths,  eaten  up  with  myths  though  we  may  be. 
Fables  crowd  in  upon  us  on  every  side,  allegory  is  pressed  into 
service  on  all  occasions  to  explain  everything.  If  fables  are 
the  torches  of  history,  as  the  humanist  school  maintains,  they 
may  be  a  means  of  securing  empires  from  revolution,  if  only 
professors  of  history  will  undertake  that  their  interpretations 
thereof  shall  permeate  the  masses  in  the  departments.  If 
Mile.  Cormon  had  had  some  knowledge  of  literature ;  if  there 
had  been  a  professor  of  anthropology  in  the  department  of 
the  Orne;  if  (a  final  if)  she  had  read  her  Ariosto,  would  the 
appalling  misfortune  of  her  marriage  have  befallen  her  ?  She 
would,  perhaps,  have  found  out  for  herself  why  the  Italian 
poet  makes  his  heroine  Angelica  prefer  Medoro  (a  suave 


146  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Chevalier  de  Valois)  to  Orlando,  who  had  lost  his  mare,  and 
could  do  nothing  but  work  himself  into  a  fury.  Might  not 
Medoro  be  taken  as  an  allegorical  figure  as  the  courtier  of 
woman's  sovereignty,  whereas  Orlando  is  revolution  personi- 
fied, an  undisciplined,  furious,  purely  destructive  force,  in- 
capable of  producing  anything?  This  is  the  opinion  of  one 
of  M.  Ballanche's  pupils ;  we  publish  it,  declining  all  respon- 
sibility. 

As  for  the  tiny  negroes'  heads,  no  information  of  any  kind 
concerning  them  is  forthcoming.  Mme.  du  Val-Noble  you 
may  see  any  day  at  the  Opera.  Thanks  to  the  primary  edu- 
cation given  to  her  by  the  Chevalier  de  Valois,  she  looks  al- 
most like  a  woman  who  makes  a  necessity  of  virtue,  while  in 
truth  she  only  exists  by  virtue  of  necessity. 

Mme.  du  Bousquier  is  still  living,  which  is  to  say,  is  it  not, 
that  her  troubles  are  not  yet  over?  At  sixty,  when  women 
can  permit  themselves  to  make  admissions,  talking  confiden- 
tially to  Mme.  du  Coudrai,  whose  husband  was  reinstated  in 
August  1830,  she  said  that  the  thought  that  she  must  die  with- 
out knowing  what  it  was  to  be  a  wife  and  mother  was  more 
than  she  could  beai, 

PARIS,  October  1836. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     147 


THE  COLLECTION  OF  ANTIQUITIES 

To  Baron  Von  Hammer-Purgsiall 

Member  of  the  Aulic  Council,  Author  of  the  History  of  the 
Ottoman  Empire. 

Dear  Baron,— You  have  taken  so  warm  an  interest  in  my  long, 
vast  "History  of  French  Manners  in  the  Nineteenth  Century," 
you  have  given  me  so  much  encouragement  to  persevere  with 
my  work,  that  you  have  given  me  a  right  to  associate  your  name 
with  some  portion  of  it.  Are  you  not  one  of  the  most  important 
representatives  of  conscientious,  studious  Germany?  Will  not 
your  approval  win  for  me  the  approval  of  others,  and  protect 
this  attempt  of  mine?  So  proud  am  I  to  have  gained  your  good 
opinion,  that  I  have  striven  to  deserve  it  by  continuing  my  labors 
with  the  unflagging  courage  characteristic  of  your  methods  of 
study,  and  of  that  exhaustive  research  among  documents  with- 
out which  you  could  never  have  given  your  monumental  work 
to  the  world  of  letters.  Your  sympathy  with  such  labor  as  you 
yourself  have  bestowed  upon  the  most  brilliant  civilization  of 
the  East,  has  often  sustained  my  ardor  through  nights  of  toil 
given  to  the  details  of  our  modern  civilization.  And  will  not 
you,  whose  naive  kindliness  can  only  be  compared  with  that 
of  our  own  La  Fontaine,  be  glad  to  know  of  this? 

May  this  token  of  my  respect  for  you  and  your  work  find  you 
at  Dobling,  dear  Baron,  and  put  you  and  yours  in  mind  of  one 
of  your  most  sincere  admirers  and  friends.  DE  BALZAC. 


148  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

THERE  stands  a  house  at  a  corner  of  a  street,  in  the  middle 
of  a  town,  in  one  of  the  least  important  prefectures  in  France, 
but  the  name  of  the  street  and  the  name  of  the  town  must  be 
suppressed  here.  Every  one  will  appreciate  the  motives  of 
this  sage  reticence  demanded  by  convention;  for  if  a  writer 
takes  upon  himself  the  office  of  annalist  of  his  own  time,  he  is 
bound  to  touch  on  many  sore  subjects.  The  house  was  called 
the  Hotel  d'Esgrignon;  but  let  d'Esgrignon  be  considered  a 
mere  fancy  name,  neither  more  nor  less  connected  with  real 
people  than  the  conventional  Belval,  Floricour,  or  Derville  of 
the  stage,  or  the  Adalberts  and  Mombreuses  of  romance.  After 
all,  the  names  of  the  principal  characters  will  be  quite  as 
much  disguised;  for  though  in  this  history  the  chronicler 
would  prefer  to  conceal  the  facts  under  a  mass  of  contradic- 
tions, anachronisms,  improbabilities,  and  absurdities,  the 
truth  will  out  in  spite  of  him.  You  uproot  a  vine-stock,  as 
you  imagine,  and  the  stem  will  send  up  lusty  shoots  after  you 
have  ploughed  your  vineyard  over. 

The  "Hotel  d'Esgrignon"  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
the  house  in  which  the  old  Marquis  lived;  or,  in  the  style  of 
ancient  documents,  Charles  Marie  Victor  Ange  Carol,  Marquis 
d'Esgrignon.  It  was  only  an  ordinary  house,  but  the  towns- 
people and  tradesmen  had  begun  by  calling  it  the  Hotel 
d'Esgrignon  in  jest,  and  ended  after  a  score  of  years  by  giv- 
ing it  that  name  in  earnest. 

The  name  of  Carol,  or  Karawl,  as  the  Thierrys  would  have 
spelt  it,  was  glorious  among  the  names  of  the  most  powerful 
chieftains  of  the  Northmen  who  conquered  Gaul  and  estab- 
lished the  feudal  system  there.  Never  had  Carol  bent  his  head 
before  King  or  Communes,  the  Church  or  Finance.  In- 
trusted in  the  days  of  yore  with  the  keeping  of  a  French 
March,  the  title  of  marquis  in  their  family  meant  no  shadow 
of  imaginary  office ;  it  had  been  a  post  of  honor  with  duties  to 
discharge.  Their  fief  had  always  been  their  domain.  Pro- 
vincial nobles  were  they  in  every  sense  of  the  word;  they 
might  boast  of  an  unbroken  line  of  great  descent;  they  had 
been  neglected  by  the  court  for  two  hundred  years ;  they  were 


149 

lords  paramount  in  the  estates  of  a  province  where  the  people 
looked  up  to  them  with  superstitious  awe,  as  to  the  image 
of  the  Holy  Virgin  that  cures  the  toothache.  The  house  of 
d'Esgrignon,  buried  in  its  remote  border  country,  was  pre- 
served as  the  charred  piles  of  one  of  Cassar's  bridges  are 
maintained  intact  in  a  river  bed.  For  thirteen  hundred 
years  the  daughters  of  the  house  had  been  married  without  a 
dowry  or  taken  the  veil;  the  younger  sons  of  every  genera- 
tion had  been  content  with  their  share  of  their  mother's 
dower  and  gone  forth  to  be  captains  or  bishops;  some  had 
made  a  marriage  at  court;  one  cadet  of  the  house  became  an 
admiral,  a  duke,  and  a  peer  of  France,  and  died  without  issue. 
Never  would  the  Marquis  d'Esgrignon  of  the  elder  branch  ac- 
cept the  title  of  duke. 

"I  hold  my  marquisate  as  His  Majesty  holds  the  realm  of 
France,  and  on  the  same  conditions,"  he  told  the  Constable 
de  Luynes,  a  very  paltry  fellow  in  his  eyes  at  that  time. 

You  may  be  sure  that  d'Esgrignons  lost  their  heads  on  the 
scaffold  during  the  troubles.  The  old  blood  showed  itself 
proud  and  high  even  in  1789.  The  Marquis  of  that  day 
would  not  emigrate;  he  was  answerable  for  his  March.  The 
reverence  in  whidi  he  was  held  by  the  countryside  saved  his 
head;  but  the  hatred  of  the  genuine  sans-culottes  was  strong 
enough  to  compel  him  to  pretend  to  fly,  and  for  a  while  he 
lived  in  hiding.  Then,  in  the  name  of  the  Sovereign  People, 
the  d'Esgrignon  lands  were  dishonored  by  the  District,  and 
the  woods  sold  by  the  Nation  in  spite  of  the  personal  protest 
made  by  the  Marquis,  then  turned  of  forty.  Mile. 
d'Esgrignon,  his  half -sister,  saved  some  portions  of  the  fief, 
thanks  to  the  young  steward  of  the  family,  who  claimed  on 
her  behalf  the  partage  de  presuccession,  which  is  to  say,  the 
right  of  a  relative  to  a  portion  of  an  emigre's  lands.  To 
Mile.  d'Esgrignon,  therefore,  the  Republic  made  over  the 
castle  itself  and  a  few  farms.  Chesnel,  the  faithful  steward, 
was  obliged  to  buy  in  his  own  name  the  church,  the  parsonage 
house,  the  castle  gardens,  and  other  places  to  which  his 
patron  was  attached — the  Marquis  advancing  the  money. 


150  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

The  slow,  swift  years  of  the  Terror  went  by,  and  the  Mar- 
quis, whose  character  had  won  the  respect  of  the  whole 
country,  decided  that  he  and  his  sister  ought  to  return  to  the 
castle  and  improve  the  property  which  Maitre  Chesnel — for 
he  was  now  a  notary — had  contrived  to  save  for  them  out  of 
the  wreck.  Alas!  was  not  the  plundered  and  dismantled 
castle  all  too  vast  for  a  lord  of  the  manor  shorn  of  all  his 
ancient  rights ;  too  large  for  the  landowner  whose  woods  had 
been  sold  piecemeal,  until  he  could  scarce  draw  nine  thousand 
francs  of  income  from  the  pickings  of  his  old  estates? 

It  was  in  the  month  of  October  1800  that  Chesnel  brought 
the  Marquis  back  to  the  old  feudal  castle,  and  saw  with  deep 
emotion,  almost  beyond  control,  his  patron  standing  in  the 
midst  of  the  empty  courtyard,  gazing  round  upon  the  moat, 
now  filled  up  with  rubbish,  and  the  castle  towers  razed  to 
the  level  of  the  roof.  The  descendant  of  the  Franks  looked 
for  the  missing  Gothic  turrets  and  the  picturesque  weather 
vanes  which  used  to  rise  above  them;  and  his  eyes  turned  to 
the  sky,  as  if  asking  of  heaven  the  reason  of  this  social  up- 
heaval. No  one  but  Chesnel  could  understand  the  profound 
anguish  of  the  great  d'Esgrignon,  now  known  as  Citizen 
Carol.  For  a  long  while  the  Marquis  stood 'in  silence,  drink- 
ing in  the  influences  of  the  place,  ihe  ancient  home  of  his 
forefathers,  with  the  air  that  he  breathed;  then  he  flung  out 
a  most  melancholy  exclamation. 

"Chesnel/'  he  said,  "we  will  come  back  again  some  day 
when  the  troubles  are  over;  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  live 
here  until  the  edict  of  pacification  has  been  published;  they 
will  not  allow  me  to  set  my  scutcheon  on  the  wall." 

He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  castle,  mounted  his  horse, 
and  rode  back  beside  his  sister,  who  had  driven  over  in  the 
notary's  shabby  basket-chaise. 

The  Hotel  d'Esgrignon  in  the  town  had  been  demolished ; 
a  couple  of  factories  now  stood  on  the  site  of  the  aristocrat's 
house.  So  Maitre  Chesnel  spent  the  Marquis'  last  bag  of 
louis  on  the  purchase  of  the  old-fashioned  building  in  the 
square,  with  its  gables,  weather-vane,  turret,  and  dovecote. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  15\ 

Once  it  had  been  the  courthouse  of  the  bailiwick,  and  sub- 
sequently the  presidial;  it  had  belonged  to  the  d'Esgrignons 
from  generation  to  generation ;  and  now,  in  consideration  of 
five  hundred  louis  d'or,  the  present  owner  made  it  over  with 
the  title  given  by  the  Nation  to  its  rightful  lord.  And  so, 
half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  the  old  house  was  chrstened  the 
Hotel  d'Esgrignon. 

In  1800  little  or  no  difficulty  was  made  over  erasing  names 
from  the  fatal  list,  and  some  few  emigres  began  to  return. 
Among  the  very  first  nobles  to  come  back  to  the  old  town  were 
the  Baron  de  Nouastre  and  his  daughter.  They  were  com- 
pletely ruined.  M.  d'Esgrignon  generously  offered  them  the 
shelter  of  his  roof;  and  in  his  house,  two  months  later,  the 
Baron  died,  worn  out  with  grief.  The  Nouastres  came  of  the 
best  blood  of  the  province;  Mile,  de  Nouastre  was  a  girl  of 
two-and-twenty ;  the  Marquis  d'Esgrignon  married  her  to 
continue  his  line.  But  she  died  in  childbirth,  a  victim  to  the 
unskilfulness  of  her  physician,  leaving,  most  fortunately,  a 
son  to  bear  the  name  of  the  d'Esgrignons.  The  old  Marqui? 
— he  was  but  fifty-three,  but  adversity  and  sharp  distress  had 
added  months  to  every  year — the  poor  old  Marquis  saw  the 
death  of  the  loveliest  of  human  creatures,  a  noble  woman  ir 
whom  the  charm  of  the  feminine  figures  of  the  sixteenth 
century  lived  again,  a  charm  now  lost  save  to  men's  imagina- 
tions. With  her  death  the  joy  died  out  of  his  old  age.  It 
was  one  of  those  terrible  shocks  which  reverberate  through 
every  moment  of  the  years  that  follow.  For  a  few  moments 
he  stood  beside,  the  bed  where  his  wife  lay,  with  her  hands 
folded  like  a  saint,  then  he  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  turned 
away,  drew  out  his  watch,  broke  the  mainspring,  and  hung 
it  up  beside  the  hearth.  It  was  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

"Mile.  d'Esgrignon,"  he  said,  "let  us  pray  God  that  this 
hour  may  not  prove  fatal  yet  again  to  our  house.  My  uncle 
the  archbishop  was  murdered  at  this  hour;  at  this  hour  also 
my  father  died ' 

He  knelt  down  beside  the  bed  and  buried  his  face  in  the 


152  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

coverlet;  his  sister  did  the  same,  in  another  moment  they 
both  rose  to  their  feet.  Mile.  d'Esgrignon  burst  into 
tears;  but  the  old  Marquis  looked  with  dry  eyes  at  the 
child,  round  the  room,  and  again  on  his  dead  wife. 
To  the  stubbornness  of  the  Frank  he  united  the  fortitude  of  a 
Christian. 

These  things  came  to  pass  in  the  second  year  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  Mile.  d'Esgrignon  was  then  twenty-seven 
years  of  age.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman.  An  ex-contractor 
for  forage  to  the  armies  of  the  Republic,  a  man  of  the  district, 
with  an  income  of  six  thousand  francs,  persuaded  Chesnel  to 
carry  a  proposal  of  marriage  to  the  lady.  The  Marquis  and 
his  sister  were  alike  indignant  with  such  presumption  in  their 
man  of  business,  and  Chesnel  was  almost  heartbroken;  he 
could  not  forgive  himself  for  yielding  to  the  Sieur  du 
Croisier's  blandishments.  The  Marquis'  manner  with  his  old 
servant  changed  somewhat;  never  again  was  there  quite  the 
old  affectionate  kindliness,  which  might  almost  have  been 
taken  for  friendship.  From  that  time  forth  the  Marquis  was 
grateful,  and  his  magnanimous  and  sincere  gratitude  con- 
tinually wounded  the  poor  notary's  feelings.  To  some 
sublime  natures  gratitude  seems  an  excessive  payment;  they 
would  rather  have  that  sweet  equality  of  feeling  which  springs 
from  similar  ways  of  thought,  and  the  blending  of  two  spirits 
by  their  own  choice  and  will.  And  Maitre  Chesnel  had 
known  the  delights  of  such  high  friendship ;  the  Marquis  had 
raised  him  to  his  own  level.  The  old  noble  looked  on  the  good 
notary  as  something  more  than  a  servant,  something  less  than 
a  child;  he  was  the  voluntary  liege  man  of  the  house,  a 
serf  bound  to  his  lord  by  all  the  ties  of  affection.  There  was 
no  balancing  of  obligations;  the  sincere  affection  on  either 
side  put  them  out  of  the  question. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  Marquis,  ChesnePs  official  dignity  was 
as  nothing ;  his  old  servitor  was  merely  disguised  as  a  notary. 
As  for  Chesnel,  the  Marquis  was  now,  as  always,  a  being  of  a 
divine  race;  he  believed  in  nobility;  he  did  not  blush  to  re- 
member that  his  father  had  thrown  open  the  doors  of  the 
salon  to  announce  that  'TVIy  Lord  Marquis  is  served."  His 


THB  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  153 

devotion  to  the  fallen  house  was  due  not  so  much  to  his  creed 
as  to  egoism ;  he  looked  on  himself  as  one  of  the  family.  So 
his  vexation  was  intense.  Once  he  had  ventured  to  allude  to 
his  mistake  in  spite  of  the  Marquis'  prohibition,  and  the  old 
noble  answered  gravely — "Chesnel,  before  the  troubles  you 
would  not  have  permitted  yourself  to  entertain  such  injurious 
suppositions.  What  can  these  new  doctrines  be  if  they  have 
spoiled  you?" 

Maitre  Chesnel  had  gained  the  confidence  of  the  whole 
town;  people  looked  up  to  him;  his  high  integrity  and  con- 
siderable fortune  contributed  to  make  him  a  person  of  im- 
portance. From  that  time  forth  he  felt  a  very  decided 
aversion  for  the  Sieur  du  Croisier;  and  though  there  was 
little  rancor  in  his  composition,  he  set  others  against  the 
sometime  forage-contractor.  Du  Croisier,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  a  man  to  bear  a  grudge  and  nurse  a  vengeance  for  a 
score  of  years.  He  hated  Chesnel  and  the  d'Esgrignon  family 
with  the  smothered,  all-absorbing  hate  only  to  be  found  in  a 
country  town.  His  rebuff  had  simply  ruined  him  with  the 
malicious  provincials  among  whom  he  had  come  to  live,  think- 
ing to  rule  over  them.  It  was  so  real  a  disaster  that  he  was 
not  long  in  feeling  the  consequences  of  it.  He  betook  himself 
in  desperation  to  a  wealthy  old  maid,  and  met  with  a  second 
refusal.  Thus  failed  the  ambitious  schemes  with  which  he 
had  started.  He  had  lost  his  hope  of  a  marriage  with  Mile. 
d'Esgrignon,  which  would  have  opened  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  of  the  province  to  him;  and  after  the  second  re- 
jection, his  credit  fell  away  to  such  an  extent  that  it  was 
almost  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  keep  his  position  in  the 
second  rank. 

In  1805,  M.  de  la  Koche-Guyon,  the  oldest  son  of  an  ancient 
family  which  had  previously  intermarried  .with  the 
d'Esgrignons,  made  proposals  in  form  through  Maitre  Chesnel 
for  Mile.  Marie  Armande  Claire  d'Esgrignon.  She  declined 
to  hear  the  notary. 

"You  must  have  guessed  before  now  that  I  am  a  mother, 
dear  Chesnel,"  she  said;  she  had  just  put  her  nephew,  a  fine 
little  boy  of  five,  to  bed. 


154  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

The  old  Marquis  rose  and  went  up  to  his  sister,  but  just 
returned  from  the  cradle ;  he  kissed  her  hand  reverently,  and 
as  he  sat  down  again,  found  words  to  say: 

"My  sister,  you  are  a  d'Esgrignon." 

A  quiver  ran  through  the  noble  girl ;  the  tears  stood  in  her 
eyes.  M.  d'Esgrignon,  the  father  of  the  present  Marquis,  had 
married  a  second  wife,  the  daughter  of  a  farmer  of  taxes 
ennobled  by  Louis  XIV.  It  was  a  shocking  mesalliance  in 
the  eyes  of  his  family,  but  fortunately  of  no  importance, 
since  a  daughter  was  the  one  child  of  the  marriage.  Armande 
knew  this.  Kind  as  her  brother  had  always  been,  he  looked 
on  her  as  a  stranger  in  blood.  And  this  speech  of  his  had 
just  recognized  her  as  one  of  the  family. 

And  was  not  her  answer  the  worthy  crown  of  eleven  years 
of  her  noble  life  ?  Her  every  action  since  she  came  of  age  had 
borne  the  stamp  of  the  purest  devotion;  love  for  her  brother 
was  a  sort  of  religion  with  her. 

"I  shall  die  Mile.  d'Esgrignon,"  she  said  simply,  turning 
to  the  notary. 

"For  you  there  could  be  no  fairer  title,"  returned  Chesnel, 
meaning  to  convey  a  compliment.  Poor  Mile.  d'Esgrignon 
reddened. 

"You  have  blundered,  Chesnel,"  said  the  Marquis,  nattered 
by  the  steward's  words,  but  vexed  that  his  sister  had  been 
hurt.  "A  d'Esgrignon  may  marry  a  Montmorency;  their 
descent  is  not  so  pure  as  ours.  The  d'Esgrignons  bear  or, 
two  bends,  gules"  he  continued,  "and  nothing  during  nine 
hundred  years  has  changed  their  scutcheon ;  as  it  was  at  first, 
so  it  is  to-day.  Hence  our  device,  Oil  est  nostre,  taken  at  a 
tournament  in  the  reign  of  Philip  Augustus,  with  the  sup- 
porters, a  knight  in  armor  or  on  the  right,  and  a  lion  gules 
on  the  left." 

• 

"I  do  not  remember  that  any  woman  I  have  ever  met  has 
struck  my  imagination  as  Mile.  d'Esgrignon  did,"  said  Emile 
Blondet,  to  whom  contemporary  literature  is  indebted  for 
this  history  among  other  things.  "Truth  to  tell,  1  was  a 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  155 

boy,  a  mere  child  at  the  time,  and  perhaps  my  memory-pict- 
ures of  her  owe  something  of  their  vivid  color  to  a  boy's 
natural  turn  for  the  marvelous. 

"If  I  was  playing  with  other  children  on  the  Parade,  and 
she  came  to  walk  there  with  her  nephew  Victurnien,  the 
sight  of  her  in  the  distance  thrilled  me  with  very  much  the 
effect  of  galvanism  on  a  dead  body.  Child  as  I  was,  I  felt 
as  though  new  life  had  been  given  me. 

"Mile.  Armande  had  hair  of  tawny  gold ;  there  was  a  deli- 
cate fine  down  on  her  cheek,  with  a  silver  gleam  upon  it  which 
I  loved  to  catch,  putting  myself  so  that  I  could  see  the  out- 
lines of  her  face  lit  up  by  the  daylight,  and  feel  the  fascina- 
tion of  those  dreamy  emerald  eyes,  which  sent  a  flash  of  fire 
through  me  whenever  they  fell  upon  my  face.  I  used  to  pre- 
tend to  roll  on  the  grass  before  her  in  our  games,  only  to  try 
to  reach  her  little  feet,  and  admire  them  on  a  closer  view. 
The  soft  whiteness  of  her  skin,  her  delicate  features,  the 
clearly  cut  lines  of  her  forehead,  the  grace  of  her  slender 
figure,  took  me  with  a  sense  of  surprise,  while  as  yet  I  did  not 
know  that  her  shape  was  graceful,  nor  her  brows  beautiful, 
nor  the  outline  of  her  face  a  perfect  oval.  I  admired  as 
children  pray  at  that  age,  without  too  clearly  understanding 
why  they  pray.  When  my  piercing  gaze  attracted  her  notice, 
when  she  asked  me  (in  that  musical  voice  of  hers,  with  more 
volume  in  it,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  than  all  other  voices),  'What 
are  you  doing,  little  one  ?  Why  do  you  look  at  me  ?' — I  used 
to  come  nearer  and  wriggle  and  bite  my  finger-nails,  and 
redden  and  say,  'I  do  not  know.'  And  if  she  chanced  to 
stroke  my  hair  with  her  white  hand,  and  ask  me  how  old  I 
was,  I  would  run  away  and  call  from  a  distance,  'Eleven !' 

"Every  princess  and  fairy  of  my  visions,  as  I  read  the 
Arabian  Nights,  looked  and  walked  like  Mile.  d'Esgrignonj 
and  afterwards,  when  my  drawing-master  gave  me  heads  from 
the  antique  to  copy,  I  noticed  that  their  hair  was  braided  like 
Mile.  d'Esgrignon's.  Still  later,  when  the  foolish  fancies  had 
vanished  one  by  one,  Mile.  Armande  remained  vaguely  in  my 
memory  as  a  type ;  that  Mile.  Armande  for  whom  men  made 


156  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

way  respectfully,  following  the  tall  brown-robed  figure  with 
their  eyes  along  the  Parade  and  out  of  sight.  Her  ex- 
quisitely graceful  form,  the  rounded  curves  sometimes  revealed 
by  a  chance  gust  of  wind,  and  always  visible  to  my  eyes  in 
spite  of  the  ample  folds  of  stuff,  revisited  my  young  man's 
dreams.  Later  yet,  when  I  came  to  think  seriously  over  cer- 
tain mysteries  of  human  thought,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
feeling  of  reverence  was  first  inspired  in  me  by  something 
expressed  in  Mile.  d'Esgrignon's  face  and  bearing.  The  won- 
derful calm  of  her  face,  the  suppressed  passion  in  it,  the 
dignity  of  her  movements,  the  saintly  life  of  duties  fulfilled, 
— all  this  touched  and  awed  me.  Children  are  more  suscepti- 
ble than  people  imagine  to  the  subtle  influences  of  ideas; 
they  never  make  game  of  real  dignity ;  they  feel  the  charm  of 
real  graciousness,  and  beauty  attracts  them,  for  childhood  it- 
self is  beautiful,  and  there  are  mysterious  ties  between  things 
of  the  same  nature. 

"Mile.  d'Esgrignon  was  one  of  my  religions.  To  this  day 
I  can  never  climb  the  staircase  of  some  old  manor-house  but 
my  foolish  imagination  must  needs  picture  Mile.  Armande 
standing  there,  like  the  spirit  of  feudalism.  I  can  never  read 
old  chronicles  but  she  appears  before  my  eyes  in  the  shape  of 
some  famous  woman  of  old  times;  she  is  Agnes  Sorel,  Marie 
Touchet,  Gabrielle;  and  I  lend  her  all  the  love  that  was  lost 
in  her  heart,  all  the  love  that  she  never  expressed.  The 
angel  shape  seen  in  glimpses  through  the  haze  of  childish 
fancies  visits  me  now  sometimes  across  the  mists  of 
dreams/' 

Keep  this  portrait  in  mind.;  it  is  a  faithful  picture  and 
sketch  of  character.  Mile.  d'Esgrignon  is  one  of  the  most  in- 
structive figures  in  this  story;  she  affords  an  example  of  the 
mischief  that  may  be  done  by  the  purest  goodness  for  lack 
of  intelligence. 

Two-thirds  of  the  emigres  returned  to  France  during  1804 
and  1805,  and  almost  every  exile  from  the  Marquis  d'Esgri- 
gnon's province  came  back  to  the  land  of  his  fathers.  There 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN          15? 

were  certainly  defections.  Men  of  good  birth  entered  the 
service  of  Napoleon,  and  went  into  the  army  or  held  places 
at  the  Imperial  court,  and  others  made  alliances  with  the 
upstart  families.  All  those  who  cast  in  their  lots  with  the 
Empire  retrieved  their  fortunes  and  recovered  their  estates, 
thanks  to  the  Emperor's  munificence ;  and  these  for  the  most 
part  went  to  Paris  and  stayed  there.  But  some  eight  or  nine 
families  still  remained  true  to  the  proscribed  noblesse  and 
loyal  to  the  fallen  monarchy.  The  La  Koche-Gu}rons, 
Nouastres,  Verneuils,  Casterans,  Troisvilles,  and  the  rest  were 
some  of  them  rich,  some  of  them  poor;  but  money,  more  or 
less,  scarcely  counted  for  anything  among  them.  They  took 
an  antiquarian  view  of  themselves;  for  them  the  age  and 
preservation  of  the  pedigree  was  the  one  all-important  mat- 
ter; precisely  as,  for  an  amateur,  the  weight  of  metal  in  a 
coin  is  a  small  matter  in  comparison  with  clean  lettering,  a 
flawless  stamp,  and  high  antiquity.  Of  these  families,  the 
Marquis  d'Esgrignon  was  the  acknowledged  head.  His  house 
became  their  cenacle.  There  His  Majesty,  Emperor  and 
King,  was  never  anything  but  "M.  de  Bonaparte" ;  there  "the 
King"  meant  Louis  XVIII.,  then  at  Mittau;  there  the  De- 
partment was  still  the  Province,  and  the  prefecture  the  in- 
tendance. 

The  Marquis  was  honored  among  them  for  his  admirable 
behavior,  his  loyalty  as  a  noble,  his  undaunted  courage;  even 
as  he  was  respected  throughout  the  town  for  his  misfortunes, 
his  fortitude,  his  steadfast  adherence  to  his  political  convic- 
tions. The  man  so  admirable  in  adversity  was  invested  with 
all  the  majesty  of  ruined  greatness.  His  chivalrous  fair- 
mindedness  was  so  well  known,  that  litigants  many  a  time  had 
referred  their  disputes  to  him  for  arbitration.  All  gently 
bred  Imperalists  and  the  authorities  themselves  showed  as 
much  indulgence  for  his  prejudices  as  respect  for  his  personal 
character;  but  there  was  another  and  a  large  section  of  the 
new  society  which  was  destined  to  be  known  after  the  Kes- 
toration  as  tbe  Liberal  party ;  and  these,  with  du  Croisier  as 
their  unacknowledged  head,  laughed  at  an  aristocratic  oasis 


158  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

which  nobody  might  enter  without  proof  of  irreproachable 
descent.  Their  animosity  was  all  the  more  bitter  because 
honest  country  squires  and  the  higher  officials,  with  a  good 
many  worthy  folk  in  the  town,  were  of  the  opinion  that  all 
the  best  society  thereof  was  to  be  found  in  the  Marquis 
d'Esgrignon's  salon.  The  prefect  himself,  the  Emperor's 
chamberlain,  made  overtures  to  the  d'Esgrignons,  humbly 
sending  his  wife  (a  Grandlieu)  as  ambassadress. 

Wherefore,  those  excluded  from  the  miniature  provincial 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain  nicknamed  the  salon  "The  Collec- 
tion of  Antiquities,"  and  called  the  Marquis  himself  "M. 
Carol."  The  receiver  of  taxes,  for  instance,  addressed  his 
applications  to  "M.  Carol  (ci-devant  des  Grignons),"  mali- 
ciously adopting  the  obsolete  wa}'  of  spelling. 

"For  my  own  part,"  said  filmic  Blondet,  "if  I  try  to  recall 
my  childhood  memories,  I  remember  that  the  nickname  of 'Col- 
lection of  Antiquities'  always  made  me  laugh,  in  spite  of 
my  respect — my  love,  I  ought  to  say — for  Mile.  d'Esgrignon. 
The  Hotel  d'Esgrignon  stood  at  the  angle  of  two  of  the 
busiest  thoroughfares  in  the  town,  and  not  five  hundred  paces 
away  from  the  market  place.  Two  of  the  drawing-room 
windows  looked  upon  the  street  and  two  upon  the  square; 
the  room  was  like  a  glass  cage,  every  one  who  came  past  could 
look  through  it  from  side  to  side.  I  was  only  a  boy  of  twelve 
at  the  time,  but  I  thought,  even  then,  that  the  salon  was  one 
of  those  rare  curiosities  which  seem,  when  you  come  to  think 
of  them  afterwards,  to  lie  just  on  the  borderland  between 
reality  and  dreams,  so  that  you  can  scarcely  tell  to  which 
side  they  most  belong. 

"The  room,  the  ancient  Hall  of  Audience,  stood  above  a 
row  of  cellars  with  grated  air-holes,  once  the  prison  cells  of 
the  old  court-house,  now  converted  into  a  kitchen.  I  do  not 
know  that  the  magnificent  lofty  chimney-piece  of  the  Louvre, 
with  its  marvelous  carving,  seemed  more  wonderful 
to  me  than  the  vast  open  hearth  of  the  salon  d'Esgrignon 
when  I  saw  it  for  the  first  time.  It  was  covered  like  a 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     159 

melon  with  a  network  of  tracery.  Over  it  stood  an  equestrian 
portrait  of  Henri  III.,  under  whom  the  ancient  duchy  of  ap- 
panage reverted  to  the  crown ;  it  was  a  great  picture  executed 
in  low  relief,  and  set  in  a  carved  and  gilded  frame.  The  ceil- 
ing spaces  between  the  chestnut  cross-beams  in  the  fine  old 
roof  were  decorated  with  scroll-work  patterns;  there  was  a 
little  faded  gilding  still  left  along  the  angles.  The  walls 
were  covered  with  Flemish  tapestry,  six  scenes  from  the 
Judgment  of  Solomon,  framed  in  golden  garlands,  with  satyrs 
and  cupids  playing  among  the  leaves.  The  parquet  floor 
had  been  laid  down  by  the  present  Marquis,  and  Chesnel  had 
picked  up  the  furniture  at  sales  of  the  wreckage  of  old  cha- 
teaux between  1793  and  1795;  so  that  there  were  Louis 
Quatorze  consoles,  tables,  clock-cases,  andirons,  candle-sconces 
and  tapestry-covered  chairs,  which  marvelously  completed  a 
stately  room,  large  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  house. 
Luckily,  however,  there  was  an  equally  lofty  ante-chamber, 
the  ancient  Salle  des  Pas  Perdus  of  the  presidial,  which 
communicated  likewise  with  the  magistrate's  deliberating 
chamber,  used  by  the  d'Esgrignons  as  a  dining-room. 

"Beneath  the  old  paneling,  amid  the  threadbare  braveries 
of  a  bygone  day,  some  eight  or  ten  dowagers  were  drawn  up 
in  state  in  a  quavering  line;  some  with  palsied  heads,  others 
dark  and  shriveled  like  mummies ;  some  erect  and  stiff,  others 
bowed  and  bent,  but  all  of  them  tricked  out  in  more  or  less 
fantastic  costumes  as  far  as  possible  removed  from  the  fashion 
of  the  day,  with  be-ribboned  caps  above  their  curled  and 
powdered  Tieads,'  and  old  discolored  lace.  No  painter  how- 
ever earnest,  no  caricature  however  wild,  ever  caught  the 
haunting  fascination  of  those  aged  women ;  they  come  back  to 
me  in  dreams;  their  puckered  faces  shape  themselves  in 
my  memory  whenever  I  meet  an  old  woman  who  puts  me  in 
mind  of  them  by  some  faint  resemblance  of  dress  or  feature. 
And  whether  it  is  that  misfortune  has  initiated  me  into  the 
secrets  of  irremediable  and  overwhelming  disaster;  whether 
that  I  have  come  to  understand  the  whole  range  of  human 

feelings,  and,  best  of  all,  the  thoughts  of  Old  Age  and  Regret; 
VOL.  7—33 


1GO  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTS?  TOWN 

whatever  the  reason,  nowhere  and  never  again  have  I  seen 
among  the  living  or  in  the  faces  of  the  dying  the  wan  look  of 
certain  gray  eyes  that  I  remember,  nor  the  dreadful  bright- 
ness of  others  that  were  black. 

"Neither  Hoffmann  nor  Maturin,  the  two  weirdest  imagina- 
tions of  our  time,  ever  gave  me  such  a  thrill  of  terror  as  I 
used  to  feel  when  I  watched  the  automaton  movements  of 
those  bodies  sheathed  in  whalebone.  The  paint  on  actors' 
faces  never  caused  me  a  shock ;  I  could  see  below  it  the  rouge 
in  grain,  the  rouge  de  naissance,  to  quote  a  comrade  at  least 
as  malicious  as  I  can  be.  Years  had  leveled  those  women's 
faces,  and  at  the  same  time  furrowed  them  with  wrinkles,  till 
they  looked  like  the  heads  on  wooden  nutcrackers  carved  in 
Germany.  Peeping  in  through  the  window-panes,  I  gazed  at 
the  battered  bodies,  and  ill-jointed  limbs  (how  they  were 
fastened  together,  and,  indeed,  their  whole  anatomy  was  a 
mystery  I  never  attempted  to  explain)  ;  I  saw  the  lantern  jaws, 
the  protuberant  bones,  the  abnormal  development  of  the  hips ; 
and  the  movements  of  these  figures  as  they  came  and  went 
seemed  to  me  no  whit  less  extraordinary  than  their  sepulchral 
immobility  as  they  sat  round  the  card-tables. 

"The  men  looked  gray  and  faded  like  the  ancient  tapestries 
on  the  wall,  in  dress  they  were  much  more  like  the  men  of 
the  day,  but  even  they  were  not  altogether  convincingly  alive. 
Their  white  hair,  their  withered  waxen-hued  faces,  their  de- 
vastated foreheads  and  pale  eyes,  revealed  their  kinship  to 
the  women,  and  neutralized  any  effects  of  reality  borrowed 
from  their  costume. 

"The  very  certainty  of  finding  all  these  folk  seated  at  or 
among  the  tables  every  day  at  the  same  hours  invested  them  at 
length  in  my  eyes  with  a  sort  of  spectacular  interest  as  it 
were;  there  was  something  theatrical,  something  unearthly 
about  them. 

"Whenever,  in  after  times,  I  have  gone  through  museums 
of  old  furniture  in  Paris,  London,  Munich,  or  Vienna,  with 
the  gray-headed  custodian  who  shows  you  the  splendors  of 
time  past,  I  have  peopled  the  rooms  with  figures  from  the 


TITE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  161 

Collection  of  Antiquities.  Often,  as  little  schoolboys  of 
eight  or  ten  we  used  to  propose  to  go  and  take  a  look  at 
the  curiosities  in  their  glass  cage,  for  the  fun  of  the  thing 
But  as  soon  as  I  caught  sight  of  Mile.  Armande's  sweet  face, 
I  used  to  tremble ;  and  there  was  a  trace  of  jealousy  in  my  ad- 
miration for  the  lovely  child  Victurnien,  who  belonged,  as  we 
all  instinctively  felt,  to  a  different  and  higher  order  of  being 
from  our  own.  It  struck  me  as  something  indescribably 
strange  that  the  young  fresh  creature  should  be  there  in  that 
cemetery  awakened  before  the  time.  We  could  not  have  ex- 
plained our  thoughts  to  ourselves,  yet  we  felt  that  we  were 
bourgeois  and  insignificant  in  the  presence  of  that  proud 
court." 

The  disasters  of  1813  and  1814,  which  brought  about  the 
downfall  of  Napoleon,  gave  new  life  to  the  Collection  of  Antiq- 
uities, and  what  was  more  than  life,  the  hope  of  recovering 
their  past  importance;  but  the  events  of  1815,  the  troubles  of 
the  foreign  occupation,  and  the  vacillating  policy  of  the 
Government  until  the  fall  of  M.  Decazes,  all  contributed  to 
defer  the  fulfilment  of  the  expectations  of  the  personages  so 
vividly  described  by  Blondet.  This  story,  therefore,  only  be- 
gins to  shape  itself  in  1822. 

In  1822  the  Marquis  d'Esgrignon's  fortunes  had  not  im- 
proved in  spite  of  the  changes  worked  by  the  Restoration  in 
the  condition  of  emigres.  Of  all  nobles  hardly  hit  by  Revolu- 
tionary legislation,  his  case  was  the  hardest.  Like  other 
great  families,  the  d'Esgrignons  before  1789  derived  the 
greater  part  of  their  income  from  their  rights  as  lords  of  the 
manor  in  the  shape  of  dues  paid  by  those  who  held  of  them ; 
and,  naturally,  the  old  seigneurs  had  reduced  the  size  of  the 
holdings  in  order  to  swell  the  amounts  paid  in  quit-rents  and 
heriots.  Families  in  this  position  were  hopelessly  ruined. 
They  were  not  affected  by  the  ordinance  by  which  Louis 
XVIII.  put  the  emigres  into  possession  of  such  of  their  lands 
as  had  not  been  sold ;  and  at  a  later  date  it  was  impossible 
that  the  law  of  indemnity  should  indemnify  them.  Their  sup- 


162  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

pressed  rights,  as  everybody  knows,  were  revived  in  the  shape 
of  a  land  tax  known  by  the  very  name  of  domaines,  but  the 
money  went  into  the  coffers  of  the  State. 

The  Marquis  by  his  position  belonged  to  that  small  section 
of  the  Eoyalist  party  which  would  hear  of  no  kind  of  com- 
promise with  those  whom  they  styled,  not  Revolutionaries,  but 
revolted  subjects,  or,  in  more  parliamentary  language,  they 
had  no  dealings  with  Liberals  or  Constitutionnels.  Such 
Eoyalists,  nicknamed  Ultras  by  the  opposition,  took  for 
leaders  and  heroes  those  courageous  orators  of  the  Right,  who 
from  the  very  beginning  attempted,  with  M.  de  Polignac,  to 
protest  against  the  charter  granted  by  Louis  XVIII.  This 
they  regarded  as  an  ill-advised  edict  extorted  from  the  Crown 
by  the  necessity  of  the  moment,  only  to  be  annulled  later  on. 
And,  therefore,  so  far  from  co-operating  with  the  King  to 
bring  about  a  new  condition  of  things,  the  Marquis  d'Esgri- 
gnon  stood  aloof,  an  upholder  of  the  straitest  sect  of  the 
Right  in  politics,  until  such  time  as  his  vast  fortune  should 
be  restored  to  him.  Nor  did  he  so  much  as  admit  the  thought 
of  the  indemnity  which  filled  the  minds  of  the  Villele  minis- 
try, and  formed  a  part  of  a  design  of  strengthening  the 
Crown  by  putting  an  end  to  those  fatal  distinctions  of  owner- 
ship which  still  lingered  on  in  spite  of  legislation. 

The  miracles  of  the  Restoration  of  1814,  the  still  greater 
miracle  of  Napoleon's  return  in  1815,  the  portents  of  a 
second  flight  of  the  Bourbons,  and  a  second  reinstatement 
(that  almost  fabulous  phase  of  contemporary  history),  all 
these  things  took  the  Marquis  by  surprise  at  the  age  of  sixty- 
seven.  At  that  time  of  life,  the  most  high-spirited  men  of 
their  age  were  not  so  much  vanquished  as  worn 
out  in  the  struggle  with  the  Revolution;  their  activity, 
in  their  remote  provincial  retreats,  had  turned  into  a 
passionately  held  and  immovable  conviction;  and  al- 
most all  of  them  were  shut  in  by  the  enervating,  easy  round 
of  daily  life  in  the  country.  Could  worse  luck  befall  a 
political  party  than  this — to  be  represented  by  old  men  at  a 
time  when  its  ideas  are  already  stigmatized  as  old-fashioned  ? 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  163 

When  the  legitimate  sovereign  appeared  to  be  firmly  seated 
on  the  throne  again  in  1818,  the  Marquis  asked  himself  what 
a  man  of  seventy  should  do  at  court ;  and  what  duties,  what 
office  he  could  discharge  there  ?  The  noble  and  high-minded 
d'Esgrignon  was  fain  to  be  content  with  the  triumph  of  the 
Monarchy  and  Eeligion,  while  he  waited  for  the  results  of 
that  unhoped-for,  indecisive  victory,  which  proved  to  be  sim- 
ply an  armistice.  He  continued  as  before,  lord-paramount 
of  his  salon,  so  felicitously  named  the  Collection  of 
Antiquities. 

But  when  the  victors  of  1793  became  the  vanquished  in 
their  turn,  the  nickname  given  at  first  in  jest  began  to  be  used 
in  bitter  earnest.  The  town  was  no  more  free  than  other 
country  towns  from  the  hatreds  and  jealousies  bred  of  party 
spirit.  Du  Croisier,  contrary  to  all  expectation,  married  the 
rich  old  maid  who  had  refused  him  at  first;  carrying  her  off 
from  his  rival,  the  darling  of  the  aristocratic  quarter,  a  cer- 
tain Chevalier  whose  illustrious  name  will  be  sufficiently  hid- 
den by  suppressing  it  altogether,  in  accordance  with  the 
usage  formerly  adopted  in  the  place  itself,  where  he  was 
known  by  his  title  only.  He  was  "the  Chevalier"  in  the 
town,  as  the  Comte  d'Artois  was  "Monsieur"  at  court.  Now, 
not  only  had  that  marriage  produced  a  war  after  the  pro- 
vincial manner,  in  which  all  weapons  are  fair ;  it  had  hastened 
the  separation  of  the  great  and  little  noblesse,  of  the  aristo- 
cratic and  bourgeois  social  elements,  which  had  been  united 
for  a  little  space  by  the  heavy  weight  of  Napoleonic  rule. 
After  the  pressure  was  removed,  there  followed  that  sudden 
revival  of  class  divisions  which  did  so  much  harm  to  the 
country. 

The  most  national  of  all  sentiments  in  France  is  vanity. 
The  wounded  vanity  of  the  many  induced  a  thirst  for 
Equality ;  though,  as  the  most  ardent  innovator  will  some  day 
discover,  Equality  is  an  impossibility.  The  Eoyalists  pricked 
the  Liberals  in  the  most  sensitive  spots,  and  this  happened 
especially  in  the  provinces,  where  either  party  accused  the 
other  of  unspeakable  atrocities.  In  those  days  the  blackest 


164  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

deeds  were  done  in  politics,  to  secure  public  opinion  on  one 
side  or  another,  to  catch,  the  votes  of  that  public  of  fools 
which  holds  up  hands  for  those  that  are  clever  enough  to 
serve  out  weapons  to  them.  Individuals  are  identified  with 
their  political  opinions,  and  opponents  in  public  life  forth- 
with become  private  enemies.  It  is  very  difficult  in  a 
country  town  to  avoid  a  man-to-man  conflict  of  this  kind 
over  interests  or  questions  which  in  Paris  appear  in  a  more 
general  and  theoretical  form,  with  the  result  that  political 
combatants  also  rise  to  a  higher  level;  M.  Laffitte,  for  ex- 
ample, or  M.  Casimir-Perier  can  respect  M.  de  Villele  or  M. 
de  Peyronnet  as  a  man.  M.  Laffitte,  who  drew  the  fire  on  the 
Ministry,  would  have  given  them  an  asylum  in  his  house  if 
they  had  fled  thither  on  the  29th  of  July  1830.  Benjamin 
Constant  sent  a  copy  of  his  work  on  Religion  to  the  Vicomte 
de  Chateaubriand,  with  a  flattering  letter  acknowledg- 
ing benefits  received  from  the  former  Minister.  At  Paris 
men  are  systems,  whereas  in  the  provinces  systems  are  iden- 
tified with  men;  men,  moreover,  with  restless  passions,  who 
must  always  confront  one  another,  always  spy  upon  each  other 
in  private  life,  and  pull  their  opponents'  speeches  to  pieces, 
and  live  generally  like  two  duelists  on  the  watch  for  a  chance 
to  thrust  six  inches  of  steel  between  an  antagonist's  ribs. 
Each  must  do  his  best  to  get  under  his  enemy's  guard,  and  a 
political  hatred  becomes  as  all-absorbing  as  a  duel  to  the  death. 
Epigram  and  slander  are  used  against  individuals  to 
bring  the  party  into  discredit. 

In  such  warfare  as  this,  waged  ceremoniously  and  without 
rancor  on  the  side  of  the  Antiquities,  while  du  Croisier's 
faction  went  so  far  as  to  use  the  poisoned  weapons  of  savages 
— in  this  warfare  the  advantages  of  wit  and  delicate  irony  lay 
on  the  side  of  the  nobles.  But  it  should  never  be  forgotten 
that  the  wounds  made  by  the  tongue  and  the  eyes,  by  gibe  or 
slight,  are  the  last  of  all  to  heal.  When  the  Chevalier  turned 
his  back  on  mixed  society  and  entrenched  himself  on  the 
Mons  Sacer  of  the  aristocracy,  his  witticisms  thenceforward 
were  directed  at  du  Croisier's  salon ;  he  stirred  up  the  fires  of 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  165 

war,  not  knowing  how  far  the  spirit  of  revenge  was  to  urge  the 
rival  faction.  None  but  purists  and  loyal  gentlemen  and  wo- 
men sure  one  of  another  entered  the  Hotel  d'Esgrignon : 
they  committed  no  indiscretions  of  any  kind;  they  had  their 
ideas,  true  or  false,  good  or  bad,  noble  or  trivial,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  laugh  at  in  all  this.  If  the  Liberals  meant  to 
make  the  nobles  ridiculous,  they  were  obliged  to  fasten  on  the 
political  actions  of  their  opponents;  while  the  intermediate 
party,  composed  of  officials  and  others  who  paid  court  to  the 
higher  powers,  kept  the  nobles  informed  of  all  that  was  done 
and  said  in  the  Liberal  camp,  and  much  of  it  was  abundantly 
laughable.  Du  Croisier's  adherents  smarted  under  a  sense  of 
inferiority,  which  increased  their  thirst  for  revenge. 

In  1822,  du  Croisier  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  manu- 
facturing interest  of  the  province,  as  the  Marquis  d'Esgri- 
gnon headed  the  noblesse.  Each  represented  his  party.  But 
du  Croisier,  instead  of  giving  himself  out  frankly  for  a  man 
of  the  extreme  Left,  ostensibly  adopted  the  opinions 
formulated  at  a  later  day  by  the  221  deputies. 

By  taking  up  this  position,  he  could  keep  in  touch  with 
the  magistrates  and  local  officials  and  the  capitalists  of  the 
department.  Du  Croisier's  salon,  a  power  at  least  equal  to 
the  salon  d'Esgrignon,  larger  numerically,  as  well  as 
younger  and  more  energetic,  made  itself  felt  all  over  the 
countryside ;  the  Collection  of  Antiquities,  on  the  other  hand, 
remained  inert,  a  passive  appendage,  as  it  were,  of  a  central 
authority  which  was  often  embarrassed  by  its  own  partisans; 
for  not  merely  did  they  encourage  the  Government  in  a  mis- 
taken policy,  but  some  of  its  most  fatal  blunders  were  made  in 
consequence  of  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  it  by  the 
Conservative  party. 

The  Liberals,  so  far,  had  never  contrived  to  carry  their  can- 
didate. The  department  declined  to  obey  their  command, 
knowing  that  du  Croisier,  if  elected,  would  take  his  place  on 
the  Left  Centre  benches,  and  as  far  as  possible  to  the  Left. 
Du  Croisier  was  in  correspondence  with  the  Brothers  Keller, 
the  bankers,  the  oldest  of  whom  shone  conspicuous  among 


166  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"the  nineteen  deputies  of  the  Left,"  that  phalanx  made 
famous  by  the  efforts  of  the  entire  Liberal  press.  This  same 
M.  Keller,  moreover,  was  related  by  marriage  to  the  Comte 
de  Gondreville,  a  Constitutional  peer  who  remained  in  favor 
with  Louis  XVIII.  For  these  reasons,  the  Constitutional  Op- 
position (as  distinct  from  the  Liberal  party)  was  always  pre- 
pared to  vote  at  the  last  moment,  not  for  the  candidate  whom 
they  professed  to  support,  but  for  du  Croisier,  if  that  worthy 
could  succeed  in  gaining  a  sufficient  number  of  Royalist 
votes ;  but  at  every  election  du  Croisier  was  regularly  thrown 
out  by  the  Royalists.  The  leaders  of  that  party,  taking  their 
tone  from  the  Marquis  d'Esgrignon,  had  pretty  thoroughly 
fathomed  and  gauged  their  man;  and  with  each  defeat,  du 
Croisier  and  his  party  waxed  more  bitter.  Nothing  so  effect- 
ually stirs  up  strife  as  the  failure  of  some  snare  set  with 
elaborate  pains. 

In  1822  there  seemed  to  be  a  lull  in  hostilities  which  had 
been  kept  up  with  great  spirit  during  the  first  four  years  of 
the  Restoration.  The  salon  du  Croisier  and  the  salon 
d'Esgrignon,  having  measured  their  strength  and  weakness, 
were  in  all  probability  waiting  for  opportunity,  that  Provi- 
dence of  party  strife.  Ordinary  persons  were  content  with 
the  surface  quiet  which  deceived  the  Government;  but  those 
who  knew  du  Croisier  better,  were  well  aware  that  the  passion 
of  revenge  in  him,  as  in  all  men  whose  whole  life  consists  in 
mental  activity,  is  implacable,  especially  when  political  ambi- 
tions are  involved.  About  this  time  du  Croisier,  who  used 
to  turn  white  and  red  at  the  bare  mention  of  d'Esgrignon 
or  the  Chevalier,  and  shuddered  at  the  name  of  the  Collection 
of  Antiquities,  chose  to  wear  the  impassive  countenance  of 
a  savage.  He  smiled  upon  his  enemies,  hating  them  but  the 
more  deeply,  watching  them  the  more  narrowly  from  hour  to 
hour.  One  of  his  own  party,  who  seconded  him  in  these  cal- 
culations of  cold  wrath,  was  the  President  of  the  Tribunal, 
M.  du  Ronceret,  a  little  country  squire,  who  had  vainly  enT 
deavored  to  gain  admittance  among  the  Antiquities. 

The  d'Esgrignons'  little  fortune,  carefully  administered  by 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN          167 

Maitre  Chesnel,  was  barely  sufficient  for  the  worthy  Marquis' 
needs ;  for  though  he  lived  without  the  slightest  ostentation, 
he  also  lived  like  a  noble.  The  governor  found  by  his  Lord- 
ship the  Bishop  for  the  hope  of  the  house,  the  young  Comte 
Victurnien  d'Esgrignon,  was  an  elderly  Oratorian  who  must 
be  paid  a  certain  salary,  although  he  lived  with  the  family. 
The  wages  of  a  cook,  a  waiting-woman  for  Mile.  Armande,  an 
old  valet  for  M.  le  Marquis,  and  a  couple  of  other  servants, 
together  with  the  daily  expenses  of  the  household,  and  the 
cost  of  an  education  for  which  nothing  was  spared,  absorbed 
the  whole  family  income,  in  spite  of  Mile.  Armande's 
economies,  in  spite  of  Chesnel's  careful  management,  and  the 
servants'  affection.  As  yet,  Chesnel  had  not  been  able  to  set 
about  repairs  at  the  ruined  castle;  he  was  waiting  till  the 
leases  fell  in  to  raise  the  rent  of  the  farms,  for  rents  had 
been  rising  lately,  partly  on  account  of  improved  methods 
of  agriculture,  partly  by  the  fall  in  the  value  of  money,  of 
which  the  landlord  would  get  the  benefit  at  the  expiration  of 
leases  granted  in  1809. 

The  Marquis  himself  knew  nothing  of  the  details  of  the 
management  of  the  house  or  of  his  property.  He  would 
have  been  thunderstruck  if  he  had  been  told  of  the  excessive 
precautions  needed  "to  make  both  ends  of  the  year  meet  in 
December/'  to  use  the  housewife's  spying,  and  he  was  so  near 
the  end  of  his  life,  that  every  one  shrank  from  opening  his 
eyes.  The  Marquis  and  his  adherents  believed  that  a  House, 
to  whichno  one  at  Court  orin  the  Government  gave  a  thought, 
a  House  that  was  never  heard  of  beyond  the  gates  of  the 
town,  save  here  and  there  in. the  same  department,  was  about 
to  revive  its  ancient  greatness,  to  shine  forth  in  all  its  glory. 
The  d'Esgrignons'  line  should  appear  with  renewed  lustre  in 
the  person  of  Victurnien,  just  as  the  despoiled  nobles  came 
into  their  own  again,  and  the  handsome  heir  to  a  great  estate 
would  be  in  a  position  to  go  to  Court,  enter  the  King's  ser- 
vice, and  marry  (as  other  d'Esgrignons  had  done  before  him) 
a  Navarreins,  a  Cadignan,  a  d'Uxelles,  a  Beauseant,  a 
Blamont-Ohauvsy ;  a  wife,  in  short,  who  should  unite  all 


168  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

the  distinctions  of  birth  and  beauty,  wit  and  wealth,  and 
character. 

The  intimates  who  came  to  play  their  game  of  cards  of 
an  evening — the  Troisvilles  (pronounced  Treville),  the  La 
Koche-Guyons,  the  Casterans  (pronounced  Cateran),  and  the 
Due  de  Verneuil — had  all  so  long  been  accustomed  to  look 
up  to  the  Marquis  as  a  person  of  immense  consequence,  that 
they  encouraged  him  in  such  notions  as  these.  They  were 
perfectly  sincere  in  their  belief;  and  indeed,  it  would  have 
been  well  founded  if  they  could  have  wiped  out  the  history  of 
the  last  forty  years.  But  the  most  honorable  and  undoubted 
sanctions  of  right,  such  as  Louis  XVIII.  had  tried  to 
set  on  record  when  he  dated  the  Charter  from  the  one-and- 
twentieth  year  of  his  reign,  only  exist  when  ratified  by  the 
general  consent.  The  d'Esgrignons  not  only  lacked  the  very 
rudiments  of  the  language  of  latter-day  politics,  to  wit, 
money,  the  great  modern  relief,  or  sufficient  rehabilitation 
of  nobility ;  but,  in  their  case,  too,  "historical  continuity"  was 
lacking,  and  that  is  a  kind  of  renown  which  tells  quite  as 
much  at  Court  as  on  the  battlefield,  in  diplomatic  circles  as 
in  Parliament,  with  a  book,  or  in  connection  with  an  ad- 
venture; it  is,  as  it  were,  a  sacred  ampulla  poured  upon  the 
heads  of  each  successive  generation.  Whereas  a  noble  family, 
inactive  and  forgotten,  is  very  much  in  the  position  of  a  hard- 
featured,  poverty-stricken,  simple-minded,  and  virtuous  maid, 
these  qualifications  being  the  four  cardinal  points  of  mis- 
fortune. The  marriage  of  a  daughter  of  the  Troisvilles  with 
General  Montcornet,  so  far  from  opening  the  eyes  of  the 
Antiquities,  very  nearly  brought  about  a  rupture  between 
the  Troisvilles  and  the  salon  d'Esgrignon,  the  latter  declaring 
that  the  Troisvilles  were  mixing  themselves  up  with  all  sorts 
of  people. 

There  was  one,  and  one  only,  among  all  these  folk  who  did 
not  share  their  illusions.  And  that  one,  needless  to  say,  was 
Chesnel  the  notary.  Although  his  devotion,  sufficiently 
proved  already,  was  simply  unbounded  for  the  great  house 
now  reduced  to  three  persons ;  although  he  accepted  all  their 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  169 

ideas,  and  thought  them  nothing  less  than  right,  he  had  too 
much  common  sense,  he  was  too  good  a  man  of  business  to 
more  than  half  the  families  in  the  department,  to  miss  the 
significance  of  the  great  changes  that  were  taking  place  in 
people's  minds,  or  to  be  blind  to  the  different  conditions 
brought  about  by  industrial  development  and  modern  man- 
ners. He  had  watched  the  Ke volution  pass  through  the 
violent  phase  of  1793,  when  men,  women,  and  children  wore 
arms,  and  heads  fell  on  the  scaffold,  and  victories  were  won 
in  pitched  battles  with  Europe;  and  now  he  saw  the  same 
forces  quietly  at  work  in  men's  minds,  in  the  shape  of  ideas 
which  sanctioned  the  issues.  The  soil  had  been  cleared,  the 
seed  sown,  and  now  came  the  harvest.  To  his  thinking,  the 
Eevolution  had  formed  the  mind  of  the  younger  generation; 
he  touched  the  hard  facts,  and  knew  that  although  there  were 
countless  unhealed  wounds,  what  had  been  done  was  done 
past  recall.  The  death  of  a  king  on  the  scaffold,  the  pro- 
tracted agony  of  a  queen,  the  division  of  the  nobles'  lands,  in 
his  eyes  were  so  many  binding  contracts ;  and  where  so  many 
vested  interests  were  involved,  it  was  not  likely  that  those 
concerned  would  allow  them  to  be  attacked.  Chesnel  saw 
clearly.  His  fanatical  attachment  to  the  d'Esgrignons  was 
whole-hearted,  but  it  was  not  blind,  and  it  was  all  the  fairer  for 
this.  The  young  monk's  faith  that  sees  heaven  laid  open  and 
beholds  the  angels,  is  something  far  below  the  power  of  the 
old  monk  who  points  them  out  to  him.  The  ex-steward  was 
like  the  old  monk;  he  would  have  given  his  life  to  defend  a 
worm-eaten  shrine. 

He  tried  to  explain  the  "innovations"  to  his  old  master, 
using  a  thousand  tactful  precautions;  sometimes  speaking 
jestingly,  sometimes  affecting  surprise  or  sorrow  over  this  or 
that ;  but  he  always  met  the  same  prophetic  smile  on  the  Mar- 
quis' lips,  the  same  fixed  conviction  in  the  Marquis'  mind, 
that  these  follies  would  go  by  like  others.  Events  con- 
tributed in  a  way  which  has  escaped  attention  to  assist  such 
noblechampionsof  forlorn  hope  to  cling  to  their  superstitions. 
What  could  Chesnel  do  when  the  old  Marquis  said,  with  a 


170  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

lordly  gesture,  "God  swept  away  Bonaparte  with  his  armies, 
his  new  great  vassals,  his  crowned  kings,  and  his  vast  con- 
ceptions !  God  will  deliver  us  from  the  rest."  And  Chesnel 
hung  his  head  sadly,  and  did  not  dare  to  answer,  "It  cannot 
be  God's  will  to  sweep  away  France."  Yet  both  of  them  were 
grand  figures;  the  one,  standing  out  against  the  torrent  of 
facts  like  an  ancient  block  of  lichen-covered  granite,  still  up- 
right in  the  depths  of  an  Alpine  gorge;  the  other,  watching 
the  course  of  the  flood  to  turn  it  to  account.  Then  the 
good  gray-headed  notary  would  groan  over  the  irreparable 
havoc  which  the  superstitions  were  sure  to  work  in  the  mind, 
the  habits,  and  ideas  of  the  Comte  Victurnien  d'Esgrignon. 

Idolized  by  his  father,  idolized  by  his  aunt,  the  young  heir 
was  a  spoilt  child  in  every  sense  of  the  word ;  but  still  a  spoilt 
child  who  justified  paternal  and  maternal  illusions. 
Maternal,  be  it  said,  for  Victurnien's  aunt  was  truly  a  mother 
to  him ;  and  yet,  however  careful  and  tender  she  may  be  that 
never  bore  a  child,  there  is  a  something  lacking  in  her  mother- 
hood. A  mother's  second  sight  cannot  be  acquired.  An 
aunt,  bound  to  her  nursling  by  ties  of  such  a  pure  affection  as 
united  Mile.  Armande  to  Victurnien,  may  love  as  much  as  a 
mother  might;  may  be  as  careful,  as  kind,  as  tender,  as  in- 
dulgent, but  she  lacks  the  mother's  instinctive  knowledge 
when  and  how  to  be  severe ;  she  has  no  sudden  warnings,  none 
of  the  uneasy  presentiments  of  the  mother's  heart;  for  a 
mother,  bound  to  her  child  from  the  beginnings  of  life  by  all 
the  fibres  of  her  being,  still  is  conscious  of  the  communica- 
tion, still  vibrates  with  the  shock  of  every  trouble,  and  thrills 
with  every  joy  in  the  child's  life  as  if  it  were  her  own.  If 
Nature  has  made  of  woman,  physically  speaking,  a  neutral 
ground,  it  has  not  been  forbidden  to  her,  under  certain  condi- 
tions, to  identify  herself  completely  with  her  offspring.  When 
she  has  not  merely  given  life,  but  given  of  her  whole  life,  you 
behold  that  wonderful,  unexplained,  and  inexplicable  thing — 
the  love  of  a  woman  for  one  of  her  children  above  the  others. 
The  outcome  of  this  story  is  one  more  proof  of  a  proven  truth 
— a  mother's  place  cannot  be  filled.  A  mother  foresees 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  1  )WN     171 

danger  long  before  a  Mile.  Armande  can  admit  the  possibility 
of  it,  even  if  the  mischief  is  done.  The  one  prevents  the 
evil,  the  other  remedies  it.  And  besides,  in  the  maiden's 
motherhood  there  is  an  element  of  blind  adoration,  she  can- 
not bring  herself  to  scold  a  beautiful  boy. 

A  practical  knowledge  of  life,  and  the  experience  of 
business,  had  taught  the  old  notary  a  habit  of  distrustful 
clear-sighted  observation  something  akin  to  the  mother's  in- 
stinct. But  Chesnel  counted  for  so  little  in  the  house  (es- 
pecially since  he  had  fallen  into  something  like  disgrace  over 
that  unlucky  project  of  a  marriage  between  a  d'Esgrignon 
and  a  du  Croisier),  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  adhere 
blindly  in  future  to  the  family  doctrines.  He  was  a  common 
soldier,  faithful  to  his  post,  and  ready  to  give  his  life;  it  was 
never  likely  that  they  would  take  his  advice,  even  in  the 
height  of  the  storm;  unless  chance  should  bring  him,  like 
the  King's  bedesman  in  The  Antiquary,  to  the  edge  of  the 
sea,  when  the  old  baronet  and  his  daughter  were  caught  by  the 
high  tide. 

Du  Croisier  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  revenge  in  the  anom- 
alous education  given  to  the  lad.  He  hoped,  to  quote  the  ex- 
pressive words  of  the  author  quoted  above,  "to  drown  the  lamb 
in  its  mother's  milk."  This  was  the  hope  which  had  pro- 
duced his  taciturn  resignation  and  brought  that  savage  smile 
on  his  lips. 

The  young  Comte  Victurnien  was  taught  to  believe  in  his 
own  supremacy  as  soon  as  an  idea  could  enter  his  head.  All 
the  great  nobles  of  the  realm  were  his  peers;  his  one  superior 
was  the  King,  and  the  rest  of  mankind  were  his  inferiors, 
people  with  whom  he  had  nothing  in  common,  towards  whom 
he  had  no  duties.  They  were  defeated  and  conquered  ene- 
mies, whom  he  need  not  take  into  account  for  a  moment; 
their  opinions  could  not  affect  a  noble,  and  they  all  owed  him 
respect.  Unluckily,  with  the  rigorous  logic  of  youth,  which 
leads  children  and  young  people  to  proceed  to  extremes 
whether  good  or  bad,  Victurnien  pushed  these  conclusions  to 
their  utmost  consequences.  His  own  external  advantages, 


172  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

moreover,  confirmed  him  in  his  beliefs.  He  had  been  extra- 
ordinarily beautiful  as  a  child;  he  became  as  accomplished  a 
young  man  as  any  father  could  wish. 

He  was  of  average  height,  but  well  proportioned,  slender, 
and  almost  delicate-looking,  but  muscular.  He  had  the 
brilliant  blue  eyes  of  the  d'Esgrignons,  the  finely-moulded 
aquiline  nose,  the  perfect  oval  of  the  face,  the  auburn  hair, 
the  white  skin,  and  the  graceful  gait  of  his  family;  he  had 
their  delicate  extremities,  their  long  taper  fingers  with  the 
inward  curve,  and  that  peculiar  distinction  of  shapeliness  of 
the  wrist  and  instep,  that  supple  felicity  of  line,  which  is  as 
sure  a  sign  of  race  in  men  as  in  horses.  Adroit  and  alert  in 
all  bodily  exercises,  and  an  excellent  shot,  he  handled  arms 
like  a  St.  George,  he  was  a  paladin  on  horseback.  In  short, 
he  gratified  the  pride  which  parents  take  in  their  children's 
appearance;  a  pride  founded,  for  that  matter,  on  a  just  idea 
of  the  enormous  influence  exercised  by  physical  beauty.  Per- 
sonal beauty  has  this  in  common  with  noble  birth;,  it  cannot  be 
acquired  afterwards ;  it  is  everywhere  recognized,  and  often  is 
more  valued  than  either  brains  or  money;  beauty  has  only 
to  appear  and  triumph ;  nobody  asks  more  of  beauty  than  that 
it  should  simply  exist. 

Fate  had  endowed  Victurnien,  over  and  above  the  privi- 
leges of  good  looks  and  noble  birth,  with  a  high  spirit,  a  won- 
derful aptitude  of  comprehension,  and  a  good  memory.  His 
education,  therefore,  had  been  complete.  He  knew  a  good 
deal  more  than  is  usually  known  by  young  provincial  nobles, 
who  develop  into  highly-distinguished  sportsmen,  owners  of 
land,  and  consumers  of  tobacco;  and  are  apt  to  treat  art, 
sciences,  letters,  poetry,  or  anything  offensively  above  their  in- 
tellects, cavalierly  enough.  Such  gifts  of  nature  and  educa- 
tion surely  would  one  day  realize  the  Marquis  d'Esgrignon's 
ambitions;  he  already  saw  his  son  a  Marshal  of  France  if 
Victurnien's  tastes  were  for  the  army;  an  ambassador  if 
diplomacy  held  any  attractions  for  him;  a  cabinet  minister  if 
that  career  seemed  good  in  his  eyes;  every  place  in  the  state 
belonged  to  Victurnien.  And,  most  gratifying  thought  of  all 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  ITS 

for  a  father,  the  young  Count  would  have  made  his  way  in  the 
world  by  his  own  merits  even  if  he  had  not  been  a  d'Es- 
grignon. 

All  through  his  happy  childhood  and  golden  youth,  Vic- 
turnien  had  never  met  with  opposition  to  his  wishes.  He 
had  been  the  king  of  the  house;  no  one  curbed  the  little 
prince's  will;  and  naturally  he  grew  up  insolent  and  au- 
dacious, selfish  as  a  prince,  self-willed  as  the  most  high-spir- 
ited cardinal  of  the  Middle  Ages, — defects  of  character  which 
any  one  might  guess  from  his  qualities,  essentially  those  of 
the  noble. 

The  Chevalier  was  a  man  of  the  good  old  times  when  the 
Gray  Musketeers  were  the  terror  of  the  Paris  theatres,  when 
they  horsewhipped  the  watch  and  drubbed  servers  of  writs, 
and  played  a  host  of  page's  pranks,  at  which  Majesty  was  wont 
to  smile  so  long  as  they  were  amusing.  This  charming  de- 
ceiver and  hero  of  the  ruelles  had  no  small  share  in  bringing 
about  the  disasters  which  afterwards  befell.  The  amiable  old 
gentleman,  with  nobody  to  understand  him,  was  not  a  little 
pleased  to  find  a  budding  Faublas,  who  looked  the  part  to 
admiration,  and  put  him  in  mind  of  his  own  young  days.  So, 
making  no  allowance  for  the  difference  of  the  times,  he  sowed 
the  maxims  of  a  roue  of  the  Encyclopedic  period  broadcast  in 
the  boy's  mind.  He  told  wicked  anecdotes  of  the  reign  of  His 
Majesty  Louis  XV. ;  he  glorified  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  year  1750 ;  he  told  of  the  orgies  in  petites  maisons,  the  fol- 
lies of  courtesans,  the  capital  tricks  played  on  creditors,  the 
manners,  in  short,  which  furnished  forth  Dancourt's  come- 
dies and  Beaumarchais'  epigrams.  And  unfortunately,  the 
corruption  lurking  beneath  the  utmost  polish  tricked  itself 
out  in  Voltairean  wit.  If  the  Chevalier  went  rather  too  far  at 
times,  he  always  added  as  a  corrective  that  a  man  must  always 
behave  himself  like  a  gentleman. 

Of  all  this  discourse,  Victurnien  comprehended  just  so 
much  as  flattered  his  passions.  From  the  first  he  saw  his  old 
father  laughing  with  the  Chevalier.  The  two  elderly  men 
considered  that  the  pride  of  a  d'Esgrignon  was  a  sufficient 


174     THE!  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

safeguard  against  anything  unbefitting ;  as  for  a  dishonorable 
action,  no  one  in  the  house  imagined  that  a  d'Esgrignon  could 
be  guilty  of  it.  HONOR,  the  great  principle  of  Monarchy,  was 
planted  firm  like  a  beacon  in  the  hearts  of  the  family;  it 
lighted  up  the  least  action,  it  kindled  the  least  thought  of  a 
d'Esgrignon.  "A  d'Esgrignon  ought  not  to  permit  himself 
to  do  such  and  such  a  thing; he  bears  a  name  which  pledges 
him  to  make  the  future  worthy  of  the  past" — a  noble  teaching 
which  should  have  been  sufficient  in  itself  to  keep  alive  the 
tradition  of  noblesse — had  been,  as  it  were,  the  burden  of  Vic- 
turnien's  cradle  song.  He  heard  them  from  the  old  Marquis, 
from  Mile.  Armande,  from  Chesnel,  from  the  intimates  of 
the  house.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  good  and  evil  met, 
and  in  equal  forces,  in  the  boy's  soul. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen,  Victurnien  went  into  society.  He 
noticed  some  slight  discrepancies  between  the  outer  world  of 
the  town  and  the  inner  world  of  the  Hotel  d'Esgrignon,  but 
he  in  no  wise  tried  to  seek  the  causes  of  them.  And,  indeed, 
the  causes  were  to  be  found  in  Paris.  He  had  yet  to  learn 
that  the  men  who  spoke  their  minds  out  so  boldly  in  evening 
talk  with  his  father,  were  extremely  careful  of  what  they  said 
in  the  presence  of  the  hostile  persons  with  whom  their  inter- 
ests compelled  them  to  mingle.  His  own  father  had  won  the 
right  of  freedom  of  speech.  Nobody  dreamed  of  contradicting 
an  old  man  of  seventy,  and  besides,  every  one  was  willing  to 
overlook  fidelity  to  the  old  order  of  things  in  a  man  who  had 
been  violently  despoiled. 

Victurnien  was  deceived  by  appearances,  and  his  behavior 
set  up  the  backs  of  the  townspeople.  In  his  impetuous  way 
he  tried  to  carry  matters  with  too  high  a  hand  over  some  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  sport,  which  ended  in  formidable  law- 
suits, hushed  up  by  Chesnel  for  money  paid  down.  Nobody 
dared  to  tell  the  Marquis  of  these  things.  You  may  judge  of 
his  astonishment  if  he  had  heard  that  his  son  had  been  prose- 
cuted for  shooting  over  his  lands,  his  domains,  his  covers, 
under  the  reign  of  a  son  of  St.  Louis !  People  were  too  much 
afraid  of  the  possible  consequences  to  tell  him  about  such 
trifles,  Chesnel  said. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  175 

The  young  Count  indulged  in  other  escapades  in  the  town. 
These  the  Chevalier  regarded  as  "amourettes,"  but  they  cost 
Chesnel  something  considerable  in  portions  for  forsaken  dam- 
sels seduced  under  imprudent  promises  of  marriage :  yet  other 
cases  there  were  which  came  under  an  article  of  the  Code  as  to 
the  abduction  of  minors ;  and  but  for  Chesnel's  timely  inter- 
vention, the  new  law  would  have  been  allowed  to  take  its 
brutal  course,  and  it  is  hard  to  say  where  the  Count  might 
nave  ended.  Victurnien  grew  the  bolder  for  these  victories 
over  bourgeois  justice.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  be  pulled  out 
of  scrapes,  that  he  never  thought  twice  before  any  prank. 
Courts  of  law,  in  his  opinion,  were  bugbears  to  frighten  people 
who  had  no  hold  on  him.  Things  which  he  would  have 
blamed  in  common  people  were  for  him  only  pardonable 
amusements.  His  disposition  to  treat  the  new  laws  cavalierly 
while  obeying  the  maxims  of  a  Code  for  aristocrats,  his  be- 
havior and  character,  were  all  pondered,  analyzed,  ^and  tested 
by  a  few  adroit  persons  in  du  Croisier's  interests.  These  folk 
supported  each  other  in  the  effort  to  make  the  people  believe 
that  Liberal  slanders  were  revelations,  and  that  the  Minis- 
terial policy  at  bottom  meant  a  return  to  the  old  order  of 
things. 

"What  a  bit  of  luck  to  find  something  by  way  of  proof  of 
their  assertions !  President  du  Ronceret,  and  the  public  pros- 
ecutor likewise,  lent  themselves  admirably,  so  far  as  was  com- 
patible with  their  duty  as  magistrates,  to  the  design  of  letting 
off  the  offender  as  easily  as  possible ;  indeed,  they  went  deliber- 
ately out  of  their  way  to  do  this,  well  pleased  to  raise  a  Liberal 
clamor  against  their  overlarge  concessions.  And  so,  while 
seeming  to  serve  the  interests  of  the  d'Esgrignons,  they  stirred 
up  ill  feeling  against  them.  The  treacherous  du  Ronceret  had 
it  in  his  mind  to  pose  as  incorruptible  at  the  right  moment 
over  some  serious  charge,  with  public  opinion  to  back  him  up. 
The  young  Count's  worst  tendencies,  moreover,  were  insidi- 
ously encouraged  by  two  or  three  young  men  who  followed  in 
his  train,  paid  court  to  him,  won  his  favor,  and  flattered  and 

obeyed  him,  with  a  view  to  confirming  his  belief  in  a  nobie?8 
VOL.  7—34 


176  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

supremacy ;  and  all  this  at  a  time  when  a  noble's  one  chance 
of  preserving  his  power  lay  in  using  it  with  the  utmost  discre- 
tion for  half  a  century  to  come. 

Du  Croisier  hoped  to  reduce  the  d'Esgrignons  to  the  last 
extremity  of  poverty ;  he  hoped  to  see  their  castle  demolished, 
and  their  lands  sold  piecemeal  by  auction,  through  the  follies 
which  this  harebrained  boy  was  pretty  certain  to  commit. 
This  was  as  far  as  he  went ;  he  did  not  think,  with  President 
du  Eonceret,  that  Victurnien  was  likely  to  give  justice  another 
kind  of  hold  upon  him.  Both  men  found  an  ally  for  their 
schemes  of  revenge  in  Victurnien's  overweening  vanity  and 
love  of  pleasure.  President  du  Eonceret's  son,  a  lad  of  sev- 
enteen, was  admirably  fitted  for  the  part  of  instigator.  He 
was  one  of  the  Count's  companions,  a  new  kind  of  spy  in  du 
Croisier's  pay;  du  Croisier  taught  him  his  lesson,  set  him  to 
track  down  the  noble  and  beautiful  boy  through  his  better 
qualities,  and  sardonically  prompted  him  to  encourage  his 
victim  in  his  worst  faults.  Fabien  du  Eonceret  was  a  sophis- 
ticated youth,  to  whom  such  a  mystification  was  attractive ;  he 
had  precisely  the  keen  brain  and  envious  nature  which  finds 
in  such  a  pursuit  as  this  the  absorbing  amusement  which  a 
man  of  an  ingenious  turn  lacks  in  the  provinces. 

In  three  years,  between  the  ages  of  eighteen  and  one-and- 
twenty,  Victurnien  cost  poor  Chesnel  nearly  eighty  thousand 
francs !  And  this  without  the  knowledge  of  Mile.  Ar- 
mande  or  the  Marquis.  More  than  half  of  the  money  had 
been  spent  in  buying  off  lawsuits ;  the  lad's  extravagance  had 
squandered  the  rest.  Of  the  Marquis'  income  of  ten  thousand 
livres,  five  thousand  were  necessary  for  the  housekeeping; 
two  thousand  more  represented  Mile.  Armande's  allowance 
(parsimonious  though  she  was)  and  the  Marquis'  expenses. 
The  handsome  young  heir-presumptive,  therefore,  had  not  a 
hundred  louis  to  spend.  And  what  sort  of  figure  can  a  man 
make  on  two  thousand  livres  ?  Victurnien's  tailor's  bills  alone 
absorbed  his  whole  allowance.  He  had  his  linen,  his  clothes, 
gloves,  and  perfumery  from  Paris.  He  wanted  a  good  English 
saddle-horse,  a  tilbury,  and  a  second  horse.  M.  du  Croisier 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     177 

had  a  tilbury  and  a  thoroughbred.  Was  the  bourgeoisie  to  cut 
out  the  noblesse?  Then,  the  young  Count  must  have  a  man 
in  the  d'Esgrignon  livery.  He  prided  himself  on  setting  the 
fashion  among  young  men  in  the  town  and  the  department; 
he  entered  that  world  of  luxuries  and  fancies  which  suit  youth 
and  good  looks  and  wit  so  well.  Chesnel  paid  for  it  all,  not 
without  using,  like  ancient  parliaments,  the  right  of  protest, 
albeit  he  spoke  with  angelic  kindness. 

"What  a  pity  it  is  that  so  good  a  man  should  be  so  tire- 
some !"  Victurnien  would  say  to  himself  every  time  that  the 
notary  staunched  some  wound  in  his  purse. 

Chesnel  had  been  left  a  widower,  and  childless;  he  had 
taken  his  old  master's  son  to  fill  the  void  in  his  heart.  It 
was  a  pleasure  to  him  to  watch  the  lad  driving  up  the  High 
Street,  perched  aloft  on  the  box-seat  of  the  tilbury,  whip  in 
hand,  and  a  rose  in  his  button-hole,  handsome,  well  turned 
out,  envied  by  every  one. 

Pressing  need  would  bring  Victurnien  with  uneasy  eyes  and 
coaxing  manner,  but  steady  voice,  to  the  modest  house  in  the 
Rue  du.Bercail;  there  had  been  losses  at  cards  at  the  Trois- 
villes,  or  the  Due  de  Yerneuil's,  or  the  prefecture,  or  the 
receiver-general's,  and  the  Count  had  come  to  his  providence, 
the  notary.  He  had  only  to  show  himself  to  carry  the  day. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  M.  le  Comte?  What  has  happened?"  the 
old  man  would  ask,  with  a  tremor  in  his  voice. 

On  great  occasions  Victurnien  would  sit  down,  assume  a 
melancholy,  pensive  expression,  and  submit  with  little  co- 
quetries of  voice  and  gesture  to  be  questioned.  Then  when 
he  had  thoroughly  roused  the  old  man's  fears  (for  Chesnel 
was  beginning  to  fear  how  such  a  course  of  extravagance 
would  end),  he  would  own  up  to  a  peccadillo  which  a  bill  for  a 
thousand  francs  would  absolve.  Chesnel  possessed  a  private 
income  of  some  twelve  thousand  livres,  but  the  fund  was  not 
inexhaustible.  The  eighty  thousand  francs  thus  squandered 
represented  his  savings,  accumulated  for  the  day  when  the 
Marquis  should  send  his  son  to  Paris,  or  open  negotiations  for 
a  wealthy  marriage. 


178  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Chesnel  was  clear-sighted  so  long  as  Victurnien  was  not 
there  before  him.  One  by  one  he  lost  the  illusions  which  the 
Marquis  and  his  sister  still  fondly  cherished.  He  saw  that  the 
young  fellow  could  not  be  depended  upon  in  the  least,  and 
wished  to  see  him  married  to  some  modest,  sensible  girl  of 
good  birth,  wondering  within  himself  how  a  young  man  could 
mean  so  well  and  do  so  ill,  for  he  made  promises  one  day  only 
to  break  them  all  on  the  next. 

But  there  is  never  any  good  to  be  expected  of  young  men 
who  confess  their  sins  and  repent,  and  straightway  fall  into 
them  again.  A  man  of  strong  character  only  confesses  his 
faults  to  himself,  and  punishes  himself  for  them;  as  for  the 
weak,  they  drop  back  into  the  old  ruts  when  they  find  that 
the  bank  is  too  steep  to  climb.  The  springs  of  pride  which  lie 
in  a  great  man's  secret  soul  had  been  slackened  in  Victurnien. 
With  such  guardians  as  he  had,  such  company  as  he  kept) 
such  a  life  as  he  had  led,  he  had  suddenly  become  an  enervated 
voluptuary  at  that  turning-point  in  his  life  when  a  man  most 
stands  in  need  of  the  harsh  discipline  of  misfortune  and 
poverty  to  bring  out  the  strength  that  is  in  him,  the  pinch  of 
adversity  which  formed  a  Prince  Eugene,  a  Frederick  II.,  a 
Napoleon.  Chesnel  saw  that  Victurnien  possessed  that  un- 
controllable appetite  for  enjoyments  which  should  be  the  pre- 
rogative of  men  endowed  with  giant  powers ;  the  men  who  feel 
the  need  of  counterbalancing  their  gigantic  labors  by  pleasures 
which  bring  one-sided  mortals  to  the  pit. 

At  times  the  good  man  stood  aghast;  then,  again,  some 
profound  sally,  some  sign  of  the  lad's  remarkable  range  of  in- 
tellect, would  reassure  him.  He  would  say,  as  the  Marquis 
said  at  the  rumor  of  some  escapade,  "Boys  will  be  boys." 
Chesnel  had  spoken  to  the  Chevalier,  lamenting  the  young 
lord's  propensity  for  getting  into  debt;  but  the  Chevalier 
manipulated  his  pinch  of  snuff,  and  listened  with  a  smile  of 
amusement. 

"My  dear  Chesnel,  just  explain  to  me  what  a  national  debt 
is,"  he  answered.  "If  France  has  debts,  egad !  why  should 
not  Victurnien  have  debts?  At  this  time  and  at  all  times 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  179 

princes  have  debts,  every  gentleman  has  debts.  Perhaps  you 
would  rather  that  Victurnien  should  bring  you  his  savings  ? — 
Do  you  know  what  our  great  Richelieu  (not  the  Cardinal,  a 
pitiful  fellow  that  put  nobles  to  death,  but  the  Marechal),  do 
you  know  what  he  did  once  when  his  grandson  the  Prince  de 
Chinon,  the  last  of  the  line,  let  him  see  that  he  had  not  spent 
his  pocket-money  at  the  University  ?" 

"No,  M.  le  Chevalier." 

"Oh,  well;  he  flung  the  purse  out  of  the  window  to  a 
sweeper  in  the  courtyard,  and  said  to  his  grandson,  'Then 
they  do  not  teach  you  to  be  a  prince  here  ?' r' 

Chesnel  bent  his  head  and  made  no  answer.  But  that  night, 
as  he  lay  awake,  he  thought  that  such  doctrines  as  these  were 
fatal  in  times  when  there  was  one  law  for  everybody,  and  fore- 
saw the  first  beginnings  of  the  ruin  of  the  d'Esgrignons. 

But  for  these  explanations  which  depict  one  side  of  pro- 
vincial life  in  the  time  of  the  Empire  and  the  Restoration,  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  understand  the  opening  scene  of  this 
history,  an  incident  which  took  place  in  the  great  salon  one 
evening  towards  the  end  of  October  1822.  The  card-tables 
were  forsaken,  the  Collection  of  Antiquities — elderly  nobles, 
elderly  countesses,  young  marquises,  and  simple  baronesses — 
had  settled  their  losses  and  winnings.  The  master  of  the  house 
was  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  while  Mile.  Armande  was 
putting  out  the  candles  on  the  card-tables.  He  was  not  tak- 
ing exercise  alone,  the  Chevalier  was  with  him,  and  the  two 
wrecks  of  the  eighteenth  century  were  talking  of  Victurnien. 
The  Chevalier  had  undertaken  to  broach  the  subject  with 
the  Marquis. 

"Yes,  Marquis,"  he  was  saying,  "your  son  is  wasting  his 
time  and  his  youth;  you  ought  to  send  him  to  court." 

"I  have  always  thought,"  said  the  Marquis,  "that  if  my 
great  age  prevents  me  from  going  to  court — where,  between 
ourselves,  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  do  among  all  these 
new  people  whom  His  Majesty  receives,  and  all  that  is  going 
on  there — that  if  I  could  not  go  myself,  I  could  at  least  send 


180  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

my  son  to  present  our  homage  to  His  Majesty.  The  King 
surely  would  do  something  for  the  Count — give  him  a  com- 
pany, for  instance,  or  a  place  in  the  Household,  a  chance,  in 
short,  for  the  boy  to  win  his  spurs.  My  uncle  the  Archbishop 
suffered  a  cruel  martyrdom ;  I  have  fought  for  the  cause  with- 
out deserting  the  camp  with  those  who  thought  it  their  duty 
to  follow  the  Princes.  I  held  that  while  the  King  was  in 
France,  his  nobles  should  rally  round  him. — Ah !  well,  no  one 
gives  us  a  thought;  a  Henri  IV.  would  have  written  before 
now  to  the  d'Esgrignons,  'Come  to  me,  my  friends;  we  have 
won  the  day !' — After  all,  we  are  something  better  than  the 
Troisvilles,  yet  here  are  two  Troisvilles  made  peers  of  France ; 
and  another,  I  hear,  represents  the  nobles  in  the  Chamber." 
(He  took  the  upper  electoral  colleges  for  assemblies  of  his 
own  order.)  "Keally,  they  think  no  more  of  us  than  if  we  did 
not  exist.  I  was  waiting  for  the  Princes  to  make  their  journey 
through  this  part  of  the  world ;  but  as  the  Princes  do  not  come 
to  us,  we  must  go  to  the  Princes." 

"I  am  enchanted  to  learn  that  you  think  of  introducing  our 
dear  Victurnien  into  society,"  the  Chevalier  put  in  adroitly. 
"He  ought  not  to  bury  his  talents  in  a  hole  like  this  town. 
The  best  fortune  that  he  can  look  for  here  is  to  come  across 
some  Norman  girl"  (mimicking  the  accent),  "country-bred, 
stupid,  and  rich.  What  could  he  make  of  her? — his  wife? 
Oh !  good  Lord !" 

"I  sincerely  hope  that  he  will  defer  his  marriage  until  he 
has  obtained  some  great  office  or  appointment  under  the 
Crown,"  returned  the  gray-haired  Marquis.  "Still,  there  are 
serious  difficulties  in  the  way." 

And  these  were  the  only  difficulties  which  the  Marquis  saw 
at  the  outset  of  his  son's  career. 

"My  son,  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon,  cannot  make  his  appear- 
ance at  court  like  a  tatterdemalion,"  he  continued  after  a 
pause,  marked  by  a  sigh ;  "he  must  be  equipped.  Alas !  for 
these  two  hundred  years  we  have  had  no  retainers.  Ah ! 
Chevalier,  this  demolition  from  top  to  bottom  always  brings 
me  back  to  the  first  hammer  stroke  delivered  by  M.  de  Mira- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  181 

beau.  The  one  thing  needful  nowadays  is  money ;  that  is  all 
that  the  Kevolution  has  done  that  I  can  see.  The  King  does 
not  ask  you  whether  you  are  a  descendant  of  the  Valois  or  a 
conquerer  of  Gaul ;  he  asks  whether  you  pay  a  thousand  francs 
in  tailles  which  nobles  never  used  to  pay.  So  I  cannot  well 
send  the  Count  to  court  without  a  matter  of  twenty  thousand 
crowns " 

"Yes,"  assented  the  Chevalier,  "with  that  trifling  sum  he 
could  cut  a  brave  figure." 

"Well,"  said  Mile.  Armande,  "I  have  asked  Chesnel  to  come 
to-night.  Would  you  believe  it,  Chevalier,  ever  since  the  day 
when  Chesnel  proposed  that  I  should  marry  that  miserable  du 
Croisier " 

"Ah !  that  was  truly  unworthy,  mademoiselle !"  cried  the 
Chevalier. 

"Unpardonable  !"  said  the  Marquis. 

"Well,  since  then  my  brother  has  never  brought  himself  to 
ask  anything  whatsoever  of  Chesnel,"  continued  Mile.  Ar- 
mande. 

"Of  your  old  household  servant  ?  Why,  Marquis,  you  would 
do  Chesnel  honor — an  honor  which  he  would  gratefully  re- 
member till  his  latest  breath." 

"No,"  said  the  Marquis,  "the  thing  is  beneath  one's  dignity, 
it  seems  to  me." 

"There  is  not  much  question  of  dignity;  it  is  a  matter  of 
necessity,"  said  the  Chevalier,  with  the  trace  of  a  shrug. 

"Never,"  said  the  Marquis,  riposting  with  a  gesture  which 
decided  the  Chevalier  to  risk  a  great  stroke  to  open  his  old 
friend's  eyes. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "since  you  do  not  know  it,  I  will  tell 
you  myself  that  Chesnel  has  let  your  son  have  something  al- 
ready, something  like " 

"My  son  is  incapable  of  accepting  anything  whatever  from 
Chesnel,"  the  Marquis  broke  in,  drawing  himself  up  as  he 
spoke.  "He  might  have  come  to  you  to  ask  you  for  twenty- 
five  louis— 

"Something  like  a  hundred  thousand  livres,"  said  the 
Chevalier,  finishing  his  sentence. 


182  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"The  Comte  d'Esgrignon  owes  a  hundred  thousand  livres 
to  a  Chesnel!"  cried  the  Marquis,  with  every  sign  of  deep 
pain.  "Oh !  if  he  were  not  an  only  son,  he  should  set  out  to- 
night for  Mexico  with  a  captain's  commission.  A  man  may 
be  in  debt  to  money-lenders,  they  charge  a  heavy  interest,  and 
you  are  quits;  that  is  right  enough;  but  Chesnel!  a  man  to 
whom  one  is  attached ! — 

"Yes,  our  adorable  Victurnien  has  run  through  a  hundred 
thousand  livres,  dear  Marquis,"  resumed  the  Chevalier,  flick- 
ing a  trace  of  snuff  from,  his  waistcoat;  "it  is  not  much,  I 

know.  I  myself  at  his  age But,  after  all,  let  us  let  old 

memories  be,  Marquis.  The  Count  is  living  in  the  provinces ; 
all  things  taken  into  consideration,  it  is  not  so  much  amiss. 
He  will  not  go  far ;  "these  irregularities  are  common  in  men 
who  do  great  things  afterwards " 

"And  he  is  sleeping  upstairs,  without  a  word  of  this  to  his 
father,"  exclaimed  the  Marquis. 

"Sleeping  innocently  as  a  child  who  has  merely  got  five  or 
six  little  bourgeoises  into  trouble,  and  now  must  have  duch- 
esses," returned  the  Chevalier. 

"Why,  he  deserves  a  lettre  de  cachet!" 

"'They'  have  done  away  with  lettres  de  cachet,"  said  the 
Chevalier.  "You  know  what  a  hubbub  there  was  when  they 
tried  to  institute  a  law  for  special  cases.  We  could  not  keep 
the  provost's  courts,  which  M.  de  Bonaparte  used  to  call  com- 
missions militaires." 

"Well,  well ;  what  are  we  to  do  if  our  boys  are  wild,  or  turn 
out  scapegraces  ?  Is  there  no  locking  them  up  in  these  days  ?" 
asked  the  Marquis. 

The  Chevalier  looked  at  the  heartbroken  father  and  lacked 
courage  to  answer,  "We  shall  be  obliged  to  bring  them  up 
properly." 

"And  you  have  never  said  a  word  of  this  to  me,  Mile.  d'Es- 
grignon," added  the  Marquis,  turning  suddenly  round  upon 
Mile.  Armande.  He  never  addressed  her  as  Mile.  d'Esgrignon 
except  when  he  was  vexed ;  usually  she  was  called  "my  sister." 

"Why,  monsieur,  when  a  young  man  is  full  of  life  and 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  IS: 

spirits,  and  leads  an  idle  life  in  a  town  like  this,  what  elso 
can  you  expect?"  asked  Mile.  d'Esgrignon.  She  could  not 
understand  her  brother's  anger. 

"Debts !  eh !  why.  hang  it  all !"  added  the  Chevalier.  "He 
plays  cards,  he  has  little  adventures,  he  shoots, — all  these 
things  are  horribly  expensive  nowadays." 

"Come,"  said  the  Marquis,  "it  is  time  to  send  him  to  the 
King.  I  will  spend  to-morrow  morning  in  writing  to  our 
kinsmen." 

"I  have  some  acquaintance  with  the  Dues  de  ISTavarreins,  de 
Lenoncourt,  de  Maufrigneuse,  and  de  Chaulieu,"  said  the 
Chevalier,  though  he  knew,  as  he  spoke,  that  he  was  pretty 
thoroughly  forgotten. 

"My  dear  Chevalier,  there  is  no  need  of  such  formalities  to 
present  a  d'Esgrignon  at  court,"  the  Marquis  broke  in. — "A 
hundred  thousand  livres,"  he  muttered ;  "this  Chesnel  makes 
very  free.  This  is  what  comes  of  these  accursed  troubles. 
M.  Chesnel  protects  my  son.  And  now  I  must  ask  him. 
.  .  .  No,  sister,  you  must  undertake  this  business.  Chesnel 
shall  secure  himself  for  the  whole  amount  by  a  mortgage  on 
our  lands.  And  just  give  this  harebrained  boy  a  good  scold- 
ing ;  he  will  end  by  ruining  himself  if  he  goes  on  like  this." 

The  Chevalier  and  Mile.  d'Esgrignon  thought  these  words 
perfectly  simple  and  natural,  absurd  as  they  would  have 
sounded  to  any  other  listener.  So  far  from  seeing  anything 
ridiculous  in  the  speech,  they  were  both  very  much  touched 
by  a  look  of  something  like  anguish  in  the  old  noble's  face. 
Some  dark  premonition  seemed  to  weigh  upon  M.  d'Es- 
grignon at  that  moment,  some  glimmering  of  an  insight  into 
the  changed  times.  He  went  to  the  settee  by  the  fireside  and 
sat  down,  forgetting  that  Chesnel  would  be  there  before  long ; 
that  Chesnel,  of  whom  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  ask  any- 
thing. 

Just  then  the  Marquis  d'Esgrignon  looked  exactly  as  any 
imagination  with  a  touch  of  romance  could  wish.  He  was 
almost  bald,  but  a  fringe  of  silken,  white  locks,  curled  at  the 
tips,  covered  the  back  of  his  head.  All  the  pride  of  race  might 


184  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

be  seen  in  a  noble  forehead,  such  as  you  may  admire  in  a 
Louis  XV.,  a  Beaumarchais,  a  Marechal  de  Eichelieu;  it  was 
not  the  square,  broad  brow  of  the  portraits  of  the  Marechal 
de  Saxe;  nor  yet  the  small  hard  circle  of  Voltaire,  compact 
to  overf  ulness ;  it  was  graciously  rounded  and  finely  moulded, 
the  temples  were  ivory  tinted  and  soft ;  and  mettle  and  spirit, 
unquenched  by  age,  flashed  from  the  brilliant  eyes.  The 
Marquis  had  the  Conde  nose  and  the  lovable  Bourbon  mouth, 
from  which,  as  they  used  to  say  of  the  Comte  d'Artois,  only 
witty  and  urbane  words  proceed.  His  cheeks,  sloping  rather 
than  foolishly  rounded  to  the  chin,  were  in  keeping  with  his 
spare  frame,  thin  legs,  and  plump  hands.  The  strangulation 
cravat  at  his  throat  was  of  the  kind  which  every  marquis  wears 
in  all  the  portraits  which  adorn  eighteenth  century  literature ; 
it  is  common  alike  to  Saint-Preux  and  to  Lovelace,  to  the 
elegant  Montesquieu's  heroes  and  to  Diderot's  homespun  char- 
acters (see  the  first  editions  of  those  writers'  works). 

The  Marquis  always  wore  a  white,  gold-embroidered,  high 
waistcoat,  with  the  red  ribbon  of  a  commander  of  the  Order  of 
St.  Louis  blazing  upon  his  breast ;  and  a  blue  coat  with  wide 
skirts,  and  fleurs-de-lys  on  the  flaps,  which  were  turned  back — 
an  odd  costume  which  the  King  had  adopted.  But  the 
Marquis  could  not  bring  himself  to  give  up  the  Frenchman's 
knee-breeches  nor  yet  the  white  silk  stockings  or  the  buckles 
at  the  knees.  After  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  he  appeared  in 
full  dress. 

He  read  no  newspapers  but  the  Quotidienne  and  the  Gazette 
de  France,  two  journals  accused  by  the  Constitutional  press 
of  obscurantist  views  and  uncounted  "monarchical  and  re- 
ligious" enormities;  while  the  Marquis  d'Esgrignon,  on  the 
other  hand,  found  heresies  and  revolutionary  doctrines  in 
every  issue.  No  matter  to  what  extremes  the  organs  of  this 
or  that  opinion  may  go,  they  will  never  go  quite  far  enough 
to  please  the  purists  on  their  own  side;  even  as  the  portrayer 
of  this  magnificent  personage  is  pretty  certain  to  be  accused 
of  exaggeration,  whereas  he  has  done  his  best  to  soften  down 
some  of  the  cruder  tones  and  dim  the  more  startling  tints  of 
the  original. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  185 

The  Marquis  d'Esgrignon  rested  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
leant  his  head  on  his  hands.  During  his  meditations  Mile. 
Armande  and  the  Chevalier  looked  at  one  another  without 
uttering  the  thoughts  in  their  minds.  Was  he  pained  by  the 
discovery  that  his  son's  future  must  depend  upon  his  sometime 
land  steward?  Was  he  doubtful  of  the  reception  awaiting 
the  young  Count  ?  Did  he  regret  that  he  had  made  no  prepara- 
tion for  launching  his  heir  into  that  brilliant  world  of  court  ? 
Poverty  had  kept  him  in  the  depths  of  his  province;  how 
should  he  have  appeared  at  court?  He  sighed  heavily  as  he 
raised  his  head. 

That  sigh,  in  those  days,  came  from  the  real  aristocracy 
all  over  France ;  from  the  loyal  provincial  noblesse,  consigned 
to  neglect  with  most  of  those  who  had  drawn  sword  and  braved 
the  storm  for  the  cause. 

"What  have  the  Princes  done  for  the  du  Guenics,  or  the 
Fontaines,  or  the  Bauvans,  who  never  submitted?"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself.  "They  fling  miserable  pensions  to  the  men 
who  fought  most  bravely,  and  give  them  a  royal  lieutenancy 
in  a  fortress  somewhere  on  the  outskirts  of  the  kingdom." 

Evidently  the  Marquis  doubted  the  reigning  dynasty.  Mile. 
d'Esgrignon  was  trjdng  to  reassure  her  brother  as  to  the  pros- 
pects of  the  journey,  when  a  step  outside  on  the  dry  narrow 
footway  gave  them  notice  of  Chesnel's  coming.  In  another 
moment  Chesnel  appeared ;  Josephin,  the  Count's  gray-haired 
valet,  admitted  the  notary  without  announcing  him. 

"Chesnel,  my  boy —  "  (Chesnel  was  a  white-haired  man 
of  sixty-nine,  with  a  square-jawed,  venerable  countenance; 
he  wore  knee-breeches,  ample  enough  to  fill  several  chapters 
of  dissertation  in  the  manner  of  Sterne,  ribbed  stockings, 
shoes  with  silver  clasps,  an  ecclesiastical-looking  coat  and  a 
high  waistcoat  of  scholastic  cut. 

"Chesnel,  my  boy,  it  was  very  presumptuous  of  you  to 
lend  money  to  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon !  If  I  repaid  you  at 
once  and  we  never  saw  each  other  again,  it  would  be  no  more 
than  you  deserve  for  giving  wings  to  his  vices." 


186  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

There  was  a  pause,  a  silence  such  as  there  falls  at  court 
when  the  King  publicly  reprimands  a  courtier.  The  old 
notary  looked  humble  and  contrite. 

"I  am  anxious  about  that  boy,  Chesnel,"  continued  the 
Marquis  in  a  kindly  tone;  "I  should  like  to  send  him  to  Paris 
to  serve  His  Majesty.  Make  arrangements  with  my  sister  for 
his  suitable  appearance  at  court. — And  we  will  settle  ac- 
counts  " 

The  Marquis  looked  grave  as  he  left  the  room  with  a 
friendly  gesture  of  farewell  to  Chesnel. 

"I  thank  M.  le  Marquis  for  all  his  goodness,"  returned  the 
old  man,  who  still  remained  standing. 

Mile.  Armande  rose  to  go  to  the  door  with  her  brother ;  she 
had  rung  the  bell,  old  Josephin  was  in  readiness  to  light  his 
master  to  his  room. 

"Take  a  seat,  Chesnel,"  said  the  lady,  as  she  returned,  and 
with  womanly  tact  she  explained  away  and  softened  the 
Marquis'  harshness.  And  yet  beneath  that  harshness  Chesnel 
saw  a  great  affection.  The  Marquis'  attachment  for  his  old 
servant  was  something  of  the  same  order  as  a  man's  affection 
for  his  dog;  he  will  fight  any  one  who  kicks  the  animal,  the 
dog  is  like  a  part  of  his  existence,  a  something  which,  if  not 
exactly  himself,  represents  him  in  that  which  is  nearest  and 
dearest — his  sensibilities. 

"It  is  quite  time  that  M.  le  Comte  should  be  sent  away  from 
the  town,  mademoiselle,"  he  said  sententiously. 

"Yes,"  returned  she.  "Has  he  been  indulging  in  some 
new  escapade  ?" 

"No,  mademoiselle." 

"Well,  why  do  you  blame  him?" 

"I  am  not  blaming  him,  mademoiselle.  No,  I  am  not 
blaming  him.  I  am  very  far  from  blaming  him.  I  will  even 
say  that  I  shall  never  blame  him,  whatever  he  may  do." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  Chevalier,  nothing  if  not  quick 
to  take  in  a  situation,  began  to  yawn  like  a  sleep-ridden 
mortal.  Gracefully  he  made  his  excuses  and  went,  with  as 
little  mind  to  sleep  as  to  go  and  drown  himself.  The  imp 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  18? 

Curiosity  kept  the  Chevalier  wide  awake,  and  with  airy 
fingers  plucked  away  the  cotton  wool  from  his  ears. 

"Well,  Chesnel,  is  it  something  new?"  Mile.  Armande  be- 
gan anxiously. 

"Yes,  things  that  cannot  be  told  to  M.  le  Marquis;  he 
would  drop  down  in  an  apoplectic  fit." 

"Speak  out,"  she  said.  With  her  beautiful  head  leant  on 
the  back  of  her  low  chair,  and  her  arms  extended  listlessly  by 
her  side,  she  looked  as  if  she  were  waiting  passively  for  her 
deathblow. 

"Mademoiselle,  M.  le  Comte,  with  all  his  cleverness,  is  a 
plaything  in  the  hands  of  mean  creatures,  petty  natures  on 
the  lookout  for  a  crushing  revenge.  They  want  to  ruin  us 
and  bring  us  low!  There  is  the  President  of  the  Tribunal, 
M.  du  Eonceret ;  he  has,  as  you  know,  a  very  great  notion  of 
his  descent " 

"His  grandfather  was  an  attorney,"  interposed  Mile.  Ar- 
mande. 

"I  know  he  ./as.  And  for  that  reason  you  have  not  received 
him ;  nor  does  he  go  to  M.  de  Troisville's,  nor  to  M.  le  Due  de 
Verneuil's,  nor  to  the  Marquis  de  Casteran's ;  but  he  is  one  of 
the  pillars  of  du  Croisier's  salon.  Your  nephew  may  rub 
shoulders  with  young  M.  Fabien  du  Ronceret  without  conde- 
scending too  far,  for  he  must  have  companions  of  his  own 
age.  Well  and  good.  That  young  fellow  is  at  the  bottom  of 
all  M.  le  Comte's  follies;  he  and  two  or  three  of  the  rest  of 
them  belong  to  the  other  side,  the  side  of  M.  le  Chevalier's 
enemy,  who  does  nothing  but  breathe  threats  of  vengeance 
against  you  and  all  the  nobles  together.  They  all  hope  to 
ruin  you  through  your  nephew.  The  ringleader  of  the  con- 
spiracy is  this  sycophant  of  a  du  Croisier,  the  pretended  Roy- 
alist. Du  Croisier's  wife,  poor  thing,  knows  nothing  about 
it ;  you  know  her,  I  should  have  heard  of  it  before  this  if  she 
had  ears  to  hear  evil.  For  some  time  these  wild  young  fellows 
were  not  in  the  secret,  nor  was  anybody  else;  but  the  ring- 
leaders let  something  drop  in  jest,  and  then  the  fools  got  to 
know  about  it,  and  after  the  Count's  recent  escapades  they  let 
fall  some  words  while  they  were  drunk.  And  those  words  were 


188  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

carried  to  me  by  others  who  are  sorry  to  see  such  a  fine,  hand- 
some, noble,  charming  lad  ruining  himself  with  pleasure.  So 
far  people  feel  sorry  for  him ;  before  many  days  are  over  they 
will — I  am  afraid  to  say  what " 

"They  will  despise  him ;  say  it  out,  Chesnel !"  Mile.  Ar- 
mande  cried  piteously. 

"Ah !  How  can  you  keep  the  best  people  in  the  town  from 
finding  out  faults  in  their  neighbors  ?  They  do  not  know  what 
to  do  with  themselves  from  morning  to  night.  And  so  M.  le 
Comte's  losses  at  play  are  all  reckoned  up.  Thirty  thousand 
francs  have  taken  flight  during  these  two  months,  and  every- 
body wonders  where  he  gets  the  money.  If  they  mention  it 
when  I  am  present,  I  just  call  them  to  order.  Ah  !  but —  'Do 
you  suppose'  (I  told  them  this  morning),  'do  you  suppose  that 
if  the  d'Esgrignon  family  have  lost  their  manorial  rights,  that 
therefore  they  have  been  robbed  of  their  hoard  of  treasure? 
The  young  Count  has  a  right  to  do  as  he  pleases ;  and  so  long 
as  he  does  not  owe  you  a  half -penny,  you  have  no  right  to  say 
a  word.' " 

Mile.  Armande  held  out  her  hand,  and  the  notary  kissed  it 
respectfully. 

"Good  Chesnel !  .  .  .  But,  my  friend,  how  shall  we 
find  the  money  for  this  journey  ?  Victurnien  must  appear  as 
befits  his  rank  at  court." 

"Oh !    I  have  borrowed  money  on  Le  Jard,  mademoiselle." 

"What  ?  You  had  nothing  left !  Ah,  heaven !  what  can  we 
do  to  reward  you  ?" 

"You  can  take  the  hundred  thousand  francs  which  I  hold 
at  your  disposal.  You  can  understand  that  the  loan  was  ne- 
gotiated in  confidence,  so  that  it  might  not  reflect  on  you;  for 
it  is  known  in  the  town  that  I  am  closely  connected  with  the 
d'Esgrignon  family." 

Tears  came  into  Mile.  Armando's  eyes.  Chesnel  saw  them, 
took  a  fold  of  the  noble  woman's  dress  in  his  hands,  and 
kissed  it. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said,  "a  lad  must  sow  his  wild  oats.  In 
great  salons  in  Paris  his  boyish  ideas  will  take  a  new  turn 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  189 

And,  really,  though  our  old  friends  here  are  the  worthiest 
folk  in  the  world,  and  no  one  could  have  nobler  hearts  than 
they,  they  are  not  amusing.  If  M.  le  Comte  wants  amuse- 
ment, he  is  obliged  to  look  below  his  rank,  and  he  will  end  by 
getting  into  low  company." 

Next  day  the  old  traveling  coach  saw  the  light,  and  was  sent 
to  be  put  in  repair.  In  a  solemn  interview  after  breakfast, 
the  hope  of  the  house  was  duly  informed  of  his  father's  inten- 
tions regarding  him — he  was  to  go  to  court  and  ask  to  serve 
His  Majesty.  He  would  have  time  during  the  journey  to 
make  up  his  mind  about  his  career.  The  navy  or  the  army, 
the  privy  council,  an  embassy,  or  the  Royal  Household, — all 
were  open  to  a  d'Esgrignon,  a  d'Esgrignon  had  only  to  choose. 
The  King  would  certainly  look  favorably  upon  the  d'Es- 
grignons,  because  they  had  asked  nothing  of  him,  and  had 
sent  the  youngest  representative  of  their  house  to  receive  the 
recognition  of  Majesty. 

But  young  d'Esgrignon,  with  all  his  wild  pranks,  had 
guessed  instinctively  what  society  in  Paris  meant,  and  formed 
his  own  opinions  of  life.  So  when  they  talked  of  his  leaving 
the  country  and  the  paternal  roof,  he  listened  with  a  grave 
countenance  to  his  revered  parent's  lecture,  and  refrained 
from  giving  him  a  good  deal  of  information  in  reply.  As, 
for  instance,  that  young  men  no  longer  went  into  the  army 
or  the  navy  as  they  used  to  do ;  that  if  a  man  had  a  mind  to  be 
a  second  lieutenant  in  a  cavalry  regiment  without  passing 
through  a  special  training  in  the  Ecoles,  he  must  first  serve 
in  the  Pages ;  that  sons  of  the  greatest  houses  went  exactly  like 
commoners  to  Saint-Cyr  and  the  Ecole  polytechnique,  and 
took  their  chances  of  being  beaten  by  base  blood.  If  he  had 
enlightened  his  relatives  on  these  points,  funds  might  not 
have  been  forthcoming  for  a  stay  in  Paris ;  so  he  allowed  his 
father  and  Aunt  Armande  to  believe  that  he  would  be  per- 
mitted a  seat  in  the  King's  carriages,  that  he  must  support 
his  dignity  at  court  as  the  d'Esgrignon  of  the  time,  and  rub 
shoulders  with  great  lords  of  the  realm. 

It  grieved  the  Marquis  that  he  could  send  but  one  servant 


190  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

with  his  son;  but  he  gave  him  his  own  old  valet  Josephin,  a 
man  who  can  be  trusted  to  take  care  of  his  young  master,  and 
to  watch  faithfully  over  his  interests.  The  poor  father  must 
do  without  Josephin,  and  hope  to  replace  him  with  a  young 
lad. 

"Kemember  that  you  are  a  Carol,  my  boy,"  he  said;  "re- 
member that  you  come  of  an  unalloyed  descent,  and  that  your 
scutcheon  bears  the  motto  Oil  est  nostre;  with  such  arms  you 
may  hold  your  head  high  everywhere,  and  aspire  to  queens. 
Eender  grace  to  your  father,  as  I  to  mine.  We  owe  it  to  the 
honor  of  our  ancestors,  kept  stainless  until  now,  that  we  can 
look  all  men  in  the  face,  and  need  bend  the  knee  to  none  save 
a  mistress,  the  King,  and  God.  This  is  the  greatest  of  your 
privileges." 

Chesnel,  good  man,  was  breakfasting  with  the  family.  He 
took  no  part  in  counsels  based  on  heraldry,  nor  in  the  inditing 
of  letters  addressed  to  divers  mighty  personages  of  the  day; 
but  he  had  spent  the  night  in  writing  to  an  old  friend  of  his, 
one  of  the  oldest  established  notaries  of  Paris.  Without  this 
letter  it  is  not  possible  to  understand  Chesnel's  real  and  as- 
sumed fatherhood.  It  almost  recalls  Daedalus'  address  to 
Icarus;  for  where,  save  in  old  mythology,  can  you  look  for 
comparisons  worthy  of  this  man  of  antique  mould  ? 

"MY  DEAR  AND  ESTIMABLE  SORRIER, — I  remember  with  no 
little  pleasure  that  I  made  my  first  campaign  in  our  honorable 
profession  under  your  father,  and  that  you  had  a  liking  for 
me,  poor  little  clerk  that  I  was.  And  now  I  appeal  to  old 
memories  of  the  days  when  we  worked  in  the  same  office,  old 
pleasant  memories  for  our  hearts,  to  ask  you  to  do  me  the  one 
service  that  I  have  ever  asked  of  you  in  the  course  of  our  long 
lives,  crossed  as  they  have  been  by  political  catastrophes,  to 
which,  perhaps,  I  owe  it  that  I  have  the  honor  to  be  your  col- 
league. And  now  I  ask  this  service  of  you,  my  friend,  and 
my  white  hairs  will  be  brought  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  if 
you  should  refuse  my  entreaty.  It  is  no  question  of  myself  or 
of  mine,  Sorbier,  for  I  lost  poor  Mme.  Chesnel,  and  I  have  no 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  191 

child  of  my  own.  Something  more  to  me  than  my  own  family 
(if  I  had  had  one)  is  involved — it  is  the  Marquis  d'Es- 
grignon's  only  son.  I  have  had  the  honor  to  be  the  Marquis' 
land  steward  ever  since  I  left  the  office  to  which  his  father 
sent  me  at  his  own  expense,  with  the  idea  of  providing  for  me. 
The  house  which  nurtured  me  has  passed  through  all  the 
troubles  of  the  Eevolution.  I  have  managed  to  save  some  of 
their  property ;  but  what  is  it,  after  all,  in  comparison  with  the 
wealth  that  they  have  lost  ?  I  cannot  tell  you,  Sorbier,  how 
deeply  I  am  attached  to  the  great  house,  which  has  been  all 
but  swallowed  up  under  my  eyes  by  the  abyss  of  time.  M.  le 
Marquis  was  proscribed,  and  his  lands  confiscated,  he  was 
getting  on  in  years,  he  had  no  child.  Misfortunes  upon  mis- 
fortunes !  Then  M.  le  Marquis  married,  and  his  wife  died 
when  the  young  Count  was  born,  and  to-day  this  noble,  dear, 
and  precious  child  is  all  the  life  of  the  d'Esgrignon  family; 
the  fate  of  the  house  hangs  upon  him.  He  has  got  into  debt 
here  with  amusing  himself.  What  else  should  he  do  in  the 
provinces  with  an  allowance  of  a  miserable  hundred  louis? 
Yes,  my  friend,  a  hundred  louis,  the  great  house  has  come  to 
this. 

"In  this  extremity  his  father  thinks  it  necessary  to  send 
the  Count  to  Paris  to  ask  for  the  King's  favor  at  cou;i.  Paris 
is  a  very  dangerous  place  for  a  lad ;  if  he  is  to  keep  steady 
there,  he  must  have  the  grain  of  sense  which  makes  notaries  of 
us.  Besides,  I  should  be  heartbroken  to  think  of  the  poor  boy 
living  amid  such  hardships  as  we  have  known. — Do  you  re- 
member the  pleasure  with  which  you  shared  my  roll  in  the 
pit  of  the  Theatre-Francjais  when  we  spent  a  day  and  a  night 
there  waiting  to  see  The  Marriage  of  Figaro  ?  Oh,  blind  that 
we  were! — We  were  happy  and  poor,  but  a  noble  cannot  be 
happy  in  poverty.  A  noble  in  want — it  is  a  thing  against 
nature !  Ah !  Sorbier,  when  one  has  known  the  satisfaction 
of  propping  one  of  the  grandest  genealogical  trees  in  the  king- 
dom in  its  fall,  it  is  so  natural  to  interest  oneself  in  it  and  to 
grow  fond  of  it,  and  love  it  and  water  it  and  look  to  see  it 
blossom.  So  you  will  not  be  surprised  at  so  many  precautions 
VOL.  7—35 


\ 

192  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

on  my  part ;  you  will  not  wonder  when  I  beg  the  help  of  youi 
lights,  so  that  all  may  go  well  with  our  young  man. 

"The  family  has  allowed  a  hundred  thousand  francs  for  the 
expenses  of  M.  le  Comte's  journey.  There  is  not  a  young 
man  in  Paris  fit  to  compare  with  him,  as  you  will  see !  You 
will  take  an  interest  in  him  as  if  he  were  your  only  son;  and 
lastly,  I  am  quite  sure  that  Madame  Sorbier  will  not  hesitate 
to  second  you  in  the  office  of  guardian.  M.  le  Comte  Vic- 
turnien's  monthly  allowance  is  fixed  at  two  thousand  francs, 
but  give  him  ten  thousand  for  his  preliminary  expenses.  The 
family  have  provided  in  this  way  for  a  stay  of  two  years,  un- 
less he  takes  a  journey  abroad,  in  which  case  we  will  see 
about  making  other  arrangements.  Join  me  in  this  work, 
my  old  friend,  and  keep  the  purse-strings  fairly  tight.  Eepre- 
sent  things  to  M.  le  Comte  without  reproving  him;  hold  him 
in  as  far  as  you  can,  and  do  not  let  him  anticipate  his  monthly 
allowance  without  sufficient  reason,  for  he  must  not  be  driven 
to  desperation  if  honor  is  involved. 

"Keep  yourself  informed  of  his  movements  and  doings,  of 
the  company  which  he  keeps,  and  watch  over  his  connections 
with  women.  M.  le  Chevalier  says  that  an  opera  dancer  often 
costs  less  than  a  court  lady.  Obtain  information  on  that  point 
and  let  me  know.  If  you  are  too  busy,  perhaps  Mme.  Sorbier 
might  know  what  becomes  of  the  young  man,  and  where  he 
goes.  The  idea  of  playing  the  part  of  guardian  angel  to  such 
a  noble  and  charming  boy  might  have  attractions  for  her. 
God  will  remember  her  for  accepting  the  sacred  trust.  Per- 
haps when  you  see  M.  le  Comte  Victurnien,  her  heart  may 
tremble  at  the  thought  of  all  the  dangers  awaiting  him  in 
Paris;  he  is  very  young,  and  very  handsome;  clever,  and  at 
the  same  time  disposed  to  trust  others.  If  he  forms  a  connec- 
tion with  some  designing  woman,  Mme.  Sorbier  could  counsel 
him  better  than  you  yourself  could  do.  The  old  man-servant 
who  is  with  him  can  tell  you  many  things;  sound  Josephin, 
I  have  told  him  to  go  to  you  in  delicate  matters. 

"But  why  should  I  say  more?  We  once  were  clerks  to- 
gether, and  a  pair  of  scamps ;  remember  our  escapades,  and  be 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  193 

a  little  bit  young  again,  my  old  friend,  in  your  dealings  with 
him.  The  sixty  thousand  francs  will  be  remitted  to  you  in 
the  shape  of  a  bill  on  the  Treasury  by  a  gentleman  who  is 
going  to  Paris,"  and  so  forth. 

If  the  old  couple  to  whom  this  epistle  was  addressed  had 
followed  out  ChesnePs  instructions,  they  would  have  been 
compelled  to  take  three  private  detectives  into  their  pay.  And 
yet  there  was  ample  wisdom  shown  in  Chesnel's  choice  of  a 
depositary.  A  banker  pays  money  to  any  one  accredited  to 
him  so  long  as  the  money  lasts;  whereas,  Victurnien  was 
obliged,  every  time  that  he  was  in  want  of  money,  to  make  a 
personal  visit  to  the  notary,  who  was  quite  sure  to  use  the  right 
of  remonstrance. 

Victurnien  heard  that  he  was  to  be  allowed  two  thousand 
francs  every  month,  and  thought  that  he  betrayed  his  joy. 
He  knew  nothing  of  Paris.  He  fancied  that  he  could  keep 
up  princely  state  on  such  a  sum. 

Next  day  he  started  on  his  journey.  All  the  benedictions 
of  the  Collection  of  Antiquities  went  with  him ;  he  was  kissed 
by  the  dowagers;  good  wishes  were  heaped  on  his  head;  his 
old  father,  his  aunt,  and  Chesnel  went  with  him  out  of  the 
town,  tears  filling  the  eyes  of  all  the  three.  The  sudden  de- 
parture supplied  material  for  conversation  for  several  even- 
ings ;  and  what  was  more,  it  stirred  the  rancorous  minds  of  the 
salon  du  Croisier  to  the  depths.  The  forage-contractor,  the 
president,  and  others  who  had  vowed  to  ruin  the  d'Esgrignons, 
saw  their  prey  escaping  out  of  their  hands.  They  had  based 
their  schemes  of  revenge  on  a  young  man's  follies,  and  now 
he  was  beyond  their  reach. 

The  tendency  in  human  nature,  which  often  gives  a  bigot 
a  rake  for  a  daughter,  and  makes  a  frivolous  woman  the 
mother  of  a  narrow  pietist ;  that  rule  of  contraries,  which,  in 
all  probability,  is  the  "resultant"  of  the  law  of  similarities, 
drew  Victurnien  to  Paris  by  a  desire  to  which  he  must  sooner 
or  later  have  yielded.  Brought  up  as  he  had  been  in  the  old- 
fashioned  provincial  house,  among  the  quiet,  gentle  faces  that 


1&4  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

smiled  upon  him,  among  sober  servants  attached  to  the  family, 
and  surroundings  tinged  with  a  general  color  of  age,  the  boy 
had  only  seen  friends  worthy  of  respect.  All  of  those  about 
him,  with  the  exception  of  the  Chevalier,  had  example  of 
venerable  age,  were  elderly  men  and  women,  sedate  of  man- 
ner, decorous  and  sententious  of  speech.  He  had  been  petted 
by  those  women  in  the  gray  gowns  and  embroidered  mittens 
described  by  Blondet.  The  antiquated  splendors  of  his  father's 
house  were  as  little  calculated  as  possible  to  suggest  frivolous 
thoughts;  and  lastly,  he  had  been  educated  by  a  sincerely  re- 
ligious abbe,  possessed  of  all  the  charm  of  an  old  age,  which 
has  dwelt  in  two  centuries,  and  brings  to  the  Present  its  gifts 
of  the  dried  roses  of  experience,  the  faded  flowers  of  the  old 
customs  of  its  youth.  Everything  should  have  combined  to 
fashion  Victurnien  to  serious  habits ;  his  whole  surroundings 
from  childhood  bade  him  continue  the  glory  of  a  historic 
name,  by  taking  his  life  as  something  noble  and  great ;  and  yet 
Victurnien  listened  to  dangerous  promptings. 

For  him,  his  noble  birth  was  a  stepping-stone  which  raised 
him  above  other  men.  He  felt  that  the  idol  of  Noblesse,  be- 
fore which  they  burned  incense  at  home,  was  hollow;  he  had 
come  to  be  one  of  the  commonest  as  well  as  one  of  the  worst 
types  from  a  social  point  of  view — a  consistent  egoist.  The 
aristocratic  cult  of  the  Ego  simply  taught  him  to  follow  his 
own  fancies;  he  had  been  idolized  by  those  who  had  the  care 
of  him  in  childhood,  and  adored  by  the  companions  who 
shared  in  his  boyish  escapades,  and  so  he  had  formed  a  habit 
of  looking  and  judging  everything  as  it  affected  his  own 
pleasure;  he  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course  when  good  souls 
saved  him  from  the  consequences  of  his  follies,  a  piece  of  mis- 
taken kindness  which  could  only  lead  to  his  ruin.  Victurnien's 
early  training,  noble  and  pious  though  it  was,  had  isolated 
him  too  much.  He  was  out  of  the  current  of  the  life  of  his 
time,  for  the  life  of  a  provincial  town  is  certainly  not  in  the 
main  current  of  the  age ;  Victurnien's  true  destiny  lifted  him 
above  it.  He  had  learned  to  think  of  an  action,  not  as 
it  affected  others,  nor  relatively,  but  absolutely  from  his  own 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  195 

point  of  view.  Like  despots,  he  made  the  law  to  suit  the  cir- 
cumstance, a  system  which  works  in  the  lives  of  prodigal  sons 
the  same  confusion  which  fancy  brings  into  art. 

Victurnien  was  quick-sighted,  he  saw  clearly  and  without 
illusion,  but  he  acted  on  impulse,  and  unwisely.  An  inde- 
finable flaw  of  character,  often  seen  in  young  men,  but  im- 
possible to  explain,  led  him  to  will  one  thing  and  do  another. 
In  spite  of  an  active  mind,  which  showed  itself  in  unexpected 
ways,  the  senses  had  but  to  assert  themselves,  and  the  dark- 
ened brain  seemed  to  exist  no  longer.  He  might  have  aston- 
ished wise  men;  he  was  capable  of  setting  fools  agape.  His 
desires,  like  a  sudden  squall  of  bad  weather,  overclouded  all 
the  clear  and  lucid  spaces  of  his  brain  in  a  moment ;  and  then, 
after  the  dissipations  which  he  could  not  resist,  he  sank,  ut- 
terly exhausted  in  body,  heart,  and  mind,  into  a  collapsed 
condition  bordering  upon  imbecility.  Such  a  character  will 
drag  a  man  down  into  the  mire  if  he  is  left  to  himself,  or 
bring  him  to  the  highest  heights  of  political  power  if  he  has 
some  stern  friend  to  keep  him  in  hand.  Neither  Chesnel,  nor 
the  lad's  father,  nor  Aunt  Armande  had  fathomed  the  depths 
of  a  nature  so  nearly  akin  on  many  sides  to  the  poetic  tem- 
perament, yet  smitten  with  a  terrible  weakness  at  its  core. 

By  the  time  the  old  town  lay  several  miles  away,  Vic- 
turnien felt  not  the  slightest  regret ;  he  thought  no  more  about 
the  father,  who  had  loved  ten  generations  in  his  son,  nor  of 
the  aunt,  and  her  almost  insane  devotion.  He  was  looking 
forward  to  Paris  with  vehement  ill-starred  longings,  in 
thought  he  had  lived  in  that  fairyland,  it  had  been  the  back- 
ground of  his  brightest  dreams.  He  imagined  that  he  would 
be  first  in  Paris,  as  he  had  been  in  the  town  and  the  depart- 
ment where  his  father's  name  was  potent ;  but  it  was  vanity, 
not  pride,  that  filled  his  soul,  and  in  his  dreams  his  pleasures 
were  to  be  magnified  by  all  the  greatness  of  Paris.  The  dis- 
tance was  soon  crossed.  The  traveling  coach,  like  his  own 
thoughts,  left  the  narrow  horizon  of  the  province  for  the  vast 
world  of  the  great  city,  without  a  break  in  the  journey.  He 


196  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

stayed  in  the  Bue  de  Richelieu,  in  a  handsome  hotel  close  to 
the  boulevard,  and  hastened  to  take  possession  of  Paris  as  a 
famished  horse  rushes  into  a  meadow. 

He  was  not  long  in  finding  out  the  difference  between 
country  and  town,  and  was  rather  surprised  than  abashed  by 
the  change.  His  mental  quickness  soon  discovered  how  small 
an  entity  he  was  in  the  midst  of  this  all-comprehending 
Babylon ;  how  insane  it  would  be  to  attempt  to  stem  the  tor- 
rent of  new  ideas  and  new  ways.  A  single  incident  was 
enough.  He  delivered  his  father's  letter  of  introduction  to 
the  Due  de  Lenoncourt,  a  noble  who  stood  high  in  favor  with 
the  King.  He  saw  the  duke  in  his  splendid  mansion,  among 
surroundings  befitting  his  rank.  Next  day  he  met  him  again. 
This  time  the  Peer  of  France  was  lounging  on  foot  along  the 
boulevard,  just  like  any  ordinary  mortal,  with  an  umbrella  in 
his  hand;  he  did  not  even  wear  the  Blue  Ribbon,  without 
which  no  knight  of  the  order  could  have  appeared  in  public 
in  other  times.  And,  duke  and  peer  and  first  gentleman  of 
the  bedchamber  though  he  was,  M.  de  Lenoncourc,  spite  of  his 
high  courtesy,  could  not  repress  a  smile  as  he  read  his  rela- 
tive's letter ;  and  that  smile  told  Victurnien  that  the  Collection 
of  Antiquities  and  the  Tuileries  were  separated  by  more  than 
sixty  leagues  of  road;  the  distance  of  several  centuries  lay 
between  them. 

The  names  of  the  families  grouped  about  the  throne  are 
quite  different  in  each  successive  reign,  and  the  characters 
change  with  the  names.  It  would  seem  that,  in  the  sphere 
of  court,  the  same  thing  happens  over  and  over  again  in  each 
generation ;  but  each  time  there  is  a  quite  different  set  of  per- 
sonages. If  history  did  not  prove  that  this  is  so,  it  would  seem 
incredible.  The  prominent  men  at  the  court  of  Louis  XVIII., 
for  instance,  had  scarcely  any  connection  with  the  Rivieres, 
Blacas,  d'Avarays,  Vitrolles,  d'Autichamps,  Pasquiers,  La- 
rochejaqueleins,  Decazes,  Dambrays,  Laines,  de  Villeles,  La 
Bourdonnayes,  and  others  who  shone  at  the  court  of  Louis 
XV.  Compare  the  courtiers  of  Henri  IV.  with  those  of  Louis 
XIV. ;  you  will  hardly  find  five  great  families  of  the  former 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  197 

time  still  in  existence.  The  nephew  of  the  great  Richelieu 
was  a  very  insignificant  person  at  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.; 
while  His  Majesty's  favorite,  Villeroi,  was  the  grandson  of  a 
secretary  ennobled  by  Charles  IX.  And  so  it  befell  that  the 
d'Esgrignons,  all  but  princes  under  the  Valois,  and  all-power- 
ful in  the  time  of  Henri  IV.,  had  no  fortune  whatever  at  the 
court  of  Louis  XVIII.,  which  gave  them  not  so  much  as  a 
thought.  At  this  day  there  are  names  as  famous  as  those  of 
royal  houses — the  Foix-Graillys,  for  instance,  or  the  d'Herou- 
villes — left  to  obscurity  tantamount  to  extinction  for  want  of 
money,  the  one  power  of  the  time. 

All  which  things  Victurnien  beheld  entirely  from  his  own 
point  of  view;  he  felt  the  equality  that  he  saw  in  Paris  as  a 
personal  wrong.  The  monster  Equality  was  swallowing  down 
the  last  fragments  of  social  distinction  in  the  Restoration. 
Having  made  up  his  mind  on  this  head,  he  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  try  to  win  back  his  place  with  such  dangerous,  if 
blunted  weapons,  as  the  age  left  to, the  noblesse.  It  is  an  ex- 
pensive matter  to  gain  the  attention  of  Paris.  To  this  end, 
Victurnien  adopted  some  of  the  ways  then  in  vogue.  He  felt 
that  it  was  a  necessity  to  have  horses  and  fine  carriages,  and 
all  the  accessories  of  modern  luxury ;  he  felt,  in  short,  "that  a 
man  must  keep  abreast  of  the  times,"  as  de  Marsay  said — de 
Marsay,  the  first  dandy  that  he  came  across  in  the  first  draw- 
ing-room to  which  he  was  introduced.  For  his  misfortune, 
he  fell  in  with  a  set  of  roues,  with  de  Marsay,  de  Ronquerolles, 
Maxime  de  Trailles,  des  Lupeaulx,  Rastignac,  Ajuda-Pinto, 
Beaudenord,  de  la  Roche-Hugon,  de  Manerville,  and  the  Van- 
denesses,  whom  he  met  wherever  he  went,  and  a  great  many 
houses  were  open  to  a  young  man  with  his  ancient  name  and 
reputation  for  wealth.  He  went  to  the  Marquise  d'Espard's, 
to  the  Duchesses  de  Grandlieu,  de  Carigliano,  and  de  Chaulieu, 
to  the  Marquises  d'Aiglemont  and  de  Listomere,  to  Mme.  de 
Serizy's,  to  the  Opera,  to  the  embassies  and  elsewhere.  The 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain  has  its  provincial  genealogies  at  its 
fingers'  ends;  a  great  name  once  recognized  and  adopted 
therein  is  a  passport  which  opens  many  a  door  that  will 


198  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

scarcely  turn  on  its  hinges  for  unknown  names  or  the  lions  of 
a  lower  rank. 

Victurnien  found  his  relatives  both  amiable  and  ready  to 
welcome  him  so  long  as  he  did  not  appear  as  a  suppliant ;  he 
saw  at  once  that  the  surest  way  of  obtaining  nothing  was  to 
ask  for  something.  At  Paris,  if  the  first  impulse  moves  people 
to  protect,  second  thoughts  (which  last  a  good  deal  longer) 
impel  them  to  despise  the  protege.  Independence,  vanity,  and 
pride,  all  the  young  Count's  better  and  worse  feelings  com- 
bined, led  him,  on  the  contrary,  to  assume  an  aggressive  atti- 
tude. And  therefore  the  Dues  de  Verneuil,  de  Lenoncourt, 
de  Chaulieu,  de  Navarreins,  d'Herouville,  de  Grandlieu,  and 
de  Maufrigneuse,  the  Princes  de  Cadignan  and  de  Blamont- 
Chauvry,  were  delighted  to  present  the  charming  survivor  of 
the  wreck  of  an  ancient  family  at  court. 

Victurnien  went  to  the  Tuileries  in  a  splendid  carriage 
with  his  armorial  bearings  on  the  panels ;  but  his  presentation 
to  His  Majesty  made  it  abundantly  clear  to  him  that  the 
people  occupied  the  royal  mind  so  much  that  his  nobility  was 
like  to  be  forgotten.  The  restored  dynasty,  moreover,  was 
surrounded  by  triple  ranks  of  eligible  old  men  and  gray- 
headed  courtiers ;  the  young  noblesse  was  reduced  to  a  cipher, 
and  this  Victurnien  guessed  at  once.  He  saw  that  there  was 
no  suitable  place  for  him  at  court,  nor  in  the  government,  nor 
the  army,  nor,  indeed,  anywhere  else.  So  he  launched  out 
into  the  world  of  pleasure.  Introduced  at  the  Elysee-Bourbon, 
at  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme's,  at  the  Pavilion  Marsan,  he 
met  on  all  sides  with  the  surface  civilities  due  to  the  heir  of 
an  old  family,  n:-t  so  old  but  it  could  be  called  to  mind  by  the 
sight  of  a  living  member.  And,  after  all,  it  was  not  a  small 
thing  to  be  remembered.  In  the  distinction  with  which  Vic- 
turnien was  honored  lay  the  way  to  the  peerage  and  a  splendid 
marriage;  he  had  taken  the  field  with  a  false  appearance  of 
wealth,  and  his  vanity  would  not  allow  him  to  declare  his  real 
position.  Besides,  he  had  been  so  much  complimented  on  the 
figure  that  he  made,  he  \vas  so  pleased  with  his  first  success, 
that,  like  many  other  young  men,  he  felt  ashamed  to  draw 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  199 

back.  He  took  a  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Kue  du  Bac,  with 
stables  and  a  complete  equipment  for  the  fashionable  life 
to  which  he  had  committed  himself.  These  preliminaries  cost 
him  fifty  thousand  francs,  which  money,  moreover,  the  young 
gentleman  managed  to  draw  in  spite  of  all  Chesnel's  wise  pre- 
cautions, thanks  to  a  series  of  unforeseen  events. 

Chesnel's  letter  certainly  reached  his  friend's  office,  but 
Maitre  Sorbier  was  dead ;  and  Mine.  Sorbier,  a  matter-of-fact 
person,  seeing  that  it  was  a  business  letter,  handed  it  on  to 
her  husband's  successor.  Maitre  Cardot,  the  new  notary,  in- 
formed the  young  Count  that  a  draft  on  the  Treasury  made 
payable  to  the  deceased  would  be  useless ;  and  by  way  of  reply 
to  the  letter,  which  had  cost  the  old  provincial  notary  so  much 
thought,  Cardot  despatched  four  lines  intended  not  to  reach 
Chesnel's  heart,  but  to  produce  the  money.  Chesnel  made  the 
draft  payable  to  Sorbier's  young  successor;  and  the  latter, 
feeling  but  little  inclination  to  adopt  his  correspondent's  senti- 
mentality, was  delighted  to  put  himself  at  the  Count's  orders, 
and  gave  Victurnien  as  much  money  as  he  wanted. 

Now  those  who  know  what  life  in  Paris  means,  know  that 
fifty  thousand  francs  will  not  go  very  far  in  furniture,  horses, 
carriages,  and  elegance  generally  ;but  it  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  Victurnien  immediately  contracted  some  twenty  thou- 
sand francs'  worth  of  debts  besides,  and  his  tradespeople  at 
first  were  not  at  all  anxious  to  be  paid,  for  our  young  gen- 
tleman's fortune  had  been  prodigiously  increased,  partly  by 
rumor,  partly  by  Josephin,  that  Chesnel  in  livery. 

Victurnien  had  not  been  in  town  a  month  before  he  was 
obliged  to  repair  to  his  man  of  business  for  ten  thousand 
francs;  he  had  only  been  playing  whist  with  the  Dues  de 
Navarreins,  de  Chaulieu,  and  de  Lenoncourt,  and  now  and 
again  at  his  club.  He  had  begun  by  winning  some  thousands 
of  francs,  but  pretty  soon  lost  five  or  six  thousand,  which 
brought  home  to  him  the  necessity  of  a  purse  for  play.  Vic- 
turnien had  the  spirit  that  gains  goodwill  everywhere,  and 
puts  a.  young  man  of  a  great  family  on  a  level  with  the 
very  highest.  He  was  not  merely  admitted  at  once  into  the 


200  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

band  of  patrician  youth,  but  was  even  envied  by  the  rest.  It 
was  intoxicating  to  him  to  feel  that  he  was  envied,  nor  was 
he  in  this  mood  very  likely  to  think  of  reform.  Indeed,  he 
had  completely  lost  his  head.  He  would  not  think  of  the 
means;  he  dipped  into  his  money-bags  as  if  they  could  be 
refilled  indefinitely;  he  deliberately  shut  his  eyes  to  the  in- 
evitable results  of  the  system.  In  that  dissipated  set,  in  the 
continual  whirl  of  gaiety,  people  take  the  actors  in  their 
brilliant  costumes  as  they  find  them ;  no  one  inquires  whether 
a  man  can  afford  to  make  the  figure  he  does,  there  is  nothing 
in  worse  taste  than  inquiries  as  to  ways  and  means.  A  man 
ought  to  renew  his  wealth  perpetually,  and  as  Nature  does — 
below  the  surface  and  out  of  sight.  People  talk  if  somebody 
comes  to  grief;  they  joke  about  a  newcomer's  fortune  till 
their  minds  are  set  at  rest,  and  at  this  they  draw  the  line. 
Victurnien  d'Esgrignon,  with  all  the  Faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main to  back  him,  with  all  his  protectors  exaggerating  the 
amount  of  his  fortune  (were  it  only  to  rid  themselves  of  re- 
sponsibility), and  magnifying  his  possessions  in  the  most  re- 
fined and  well-bred  way,  with  a  hint  or  a  word;  with  all 
these  advantages — to  repeat — Victurnien  was,  in  fact,  an 
eligible  Count.  He  was  handsome,  witty,  sound  in  politics; 
his  father  still  possessed  the  ancestral  castle  and  the  lands  of 
the  marquisate.  Such  a  young  fellow  is  sure  of  an  admi- 
rable reception  in  houses  where,  there  are  marriageable 
daughters,  fair  but  portionless  partners  at  dances,  and  young 
married  women  who  find  that  time  hangs  heavy  on  their 
hands.  So  the  world,  smiling,  beckoned  him  to  the  fore- 
most benches  in  its  booth ;  the  seats  reserved  for  marquises  are 
still  in  the  same  place  in  Paris;  and  if  the  names  are  changed, 
the  things  are  the  same  as  ever. 

In  the  most  exclusive  circle  of  society  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain,  Victurnien  found  the  Chevalier's  double  in 
the  person  of  the  Vidame  de  Pamiers.  The  Vidame  was  a 
Chevalier  de  Valois  raised  to  the  tenth  power,  invested  with 
all  the  prestige  of  wealth,  enjoying  all  the  advantages  of  high 
position.  The  dear  Vidame  was  a  repositary  for  everybody's 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  201 

secrets,  and  the  gazette  of  the  Faubourg  besides ;  nevertheless, 
he  was  discreet,  and,  like  other  gazettes,  only  said  things  that 
might  safely  be  published.  Again  Victurnien  listened  to 
the  Chevalier's  esoteric  doctrines.  The  Vidame  told  young 
d'Esgrignon,  without  mincing  matters,  to  make  conquests 
among  women  of  quality,  supplementing  the  advice  with  anec- 
dotes from  his  own  experience.  The  Vicomte  de  Pamiers, 
it  seemed,  had  permitted  himself  much  that  it  would  serve 
no  purpose  to  relate  here;  so  remote  was  it  all  from  our 
modern  manners,  in  which  soul  and  passion  play  so  large  a 
part,  that  nobody  would  believe  it.  But  the  excellent  Vidame 
did  more  than  this. 

"Dine  with  me  at  a  tavern  to-morrow,"  said  he,  by  way 
of  conclusion.  "We  will  digest  our  dinner  at  the  Opera,  and 
afterwards  I  will  take  you  to  a  house  where  several  people 
have  the  greatest  wish  to  meet  you." 

The  Vidame  gave  a  delightful  little  dinner  at  the  Rocher 
de  Cancale;  three  guests  only  were  asked  to  meet  Victurnien 
— de  Marsay,  Eastignac,  and  Blondet.  Emile  Blondet,  the 
young  Count's  fellow-townsman,  was  a  man  of  letters  on 
the  outskirts  of  society  to  which  he  had  been  introduced  by 
a  charming  woman  from  the  same  province.  This  was  one 
of  the  Vicomte  de  Troisville's  daughters,  now  married  to  the 
Comte  de  Montcornet,  one  of  those  of  Napoleon's  generals 
who  went  over  to  the  Bourbons.  The  Vidame  held  that  a 
dinner-party  of  more  than  six  persons  was  beneath  contempt. 
In  that  case,  according  to  him,  there  was  an  end  alike  of 
cookery  and  conversation,  and  a  man  could  not  sip  his  wine  in 
a  proper  frame  of  mind. 

"I  have  not  yet  told  you,  my  dear  boy,  where  I  mean  to 
take  you  to-night,"  he  said,  taking  Victurnien's  hands  and 
tapping  on  them.  "You  are  going  to  see  Mile,  des  Touches ; 
all  the  pretty  women  with  any  pretensions  to  wit  will  be  at 
her  house  en  petit  comite.  Literature,  art,  poetry,  any  sort 
of  genius,  in  short,  is  held  in  great  esteem  there.  It  is  one 
)f  our  old-world  bureaux  d'esprit,  with  a  veneer  of  mon- 
archical doctrine,  the  livery  of  this  present  age." 


202  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"It  is  sometimes  as  tiresome  and  tedious  there  as  a  paii 
of  new  boots,  but  there  are  women  with  whom  you  cannot  meet 
anywhere  else,"  said  de  Marsay. 

"If  all  the  poets  who  went  there  to  rub  up  their  muse  were 
like  our  friend  here/'  said  Eastignac,  tapping  Blondet 
familiarly  on  the  shoulder,  "we  should  have  some  fun.  But 
a  plague  of  odes,  and  ballads,  and  driveling  meditations,  and 
novels  with  wide  margins,  pervades  the  sofas  and  the 
atmosphere." 

"I  don't  dislike  them,"  said  de  Marsay,  "so  long  as  they 
corrupt  girls'  minds,  and  don't  spoil  women." 

"Gentlemen,"  smiled  Blondet,  "you  are  encroaching  on  my 
field  of  literature." 

"You  need  not  talk.  You  have  robbed  us  of  the  most 
charming  woman  in  the  world,  you  lucky  rogue;  we  may  be 
allowed  to  steal  your  less  brilliant  ideas,"  cried  Eastignac. 

"Yes,  he  is  a  lucky  rascal,"  said  the  Vidame,  and  he 
twitched  Blondet's  ear.  "But  perhaps  Victurnien  here  will 
be  luckier  still  this  evening " 

"Already!"  exclaimed  de  Marsay.  "Why,  he  only  came 
here  a  month  ago ;  he  has  scarcely  had  time  to  shake  the  dust 
of  his  old  manor  house  off  his  feet,  to  wipe  off  the  brine 
in  which  his  aunt  kept  him  preserved;  he  has  only  just 
set  up  a  decent  horse,  a  tilbury  in  the  latest  style,  a 
groom ''" 

"No,  no,  not  a  groom,"  interrupted  Eastignac;  "he  has 
some  sort  of  an  agricultural  laborer  that  he  brought  with  him 
'from  his  place.'  Buisson,  who  understands  a  livery  as  well 
as  most,  declared  that  the  man  was  physically  incapable  of 
wearing  a  jacket." 

"I  will  tell  you  what,  you  ought  to  have  modeled  your- 
self on  Beaudenord,"  the  Vidame  said  seriously.  "He  has 
this  advantage  over  all  of  you,  my  young  friends,  he  has  a 
genuine  specimen  of  the  English  tiger " 

"Just  see,  gentlemen,  what  the  noblesse  have  come  to  in 
France!"  cried  Victurnien.  "For  them  the  one  important 
thing  is  to  have  a  tiger,  a  thoroughbred,  and  baubles " 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     203 

"Bless  me !"  said  Blondet.  "  'This  gentleman's  good  sense 
at  times  appalls  me/ — Well,  yes,  young  moralist,  you  nobles 
have  come  to  that.  You  have  not  even  left  to  you  that 
lustre  of  lavish  expenditure  for  which  the  dear  Vidame  was 
famous  fifty  years  ago.  We  revel  on  a  second  floor  in  the 
Eue  Montorgueil.  There  are  no  more  wars  with  the  Cardinal, 
no  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold.  You,  Comte  d'Esgrignon,  in 
short,  are  supping  in  the  company  of  one  Blondet,  younger 
son  of  a  miserable  provincial  magistrate,  with  whom  you 
would  not  shake  hands  down  yonder;  and  in  ten  years'  time 
you  may  sit  beside  him  among  peers  of  the  realm.  Believe 
in  yourself  after  that,  if  you  can." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Eastignac,  "we  have  passed  from  action  to 
thought,  from  brute  force  to  force  of  intellect,  we  are  talk- 
ing " 

"Let  us  not  talk  of  our  reverses,"  protested  the  Vidame; 
"I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  die  merrily.  If  our  friend  here 
has  not  a  tiger  as  yet,  he  comes  of  a  race  of  lions,  and  can  dis- 
pense with  one." 

"He  cannot  do  without  a  tiger,"  said  Blondet;  "he  is  too 
newly  come  to  town." 

"His  elegance  may  be  new  as  yet,"  returned  de  Marsay, 
"but  we  are  adopting  it.  He  is  worthy  of  us,  he  understands 
his  age,  he  has  brains,  he  is  nobly  born  and  gently  bred; 
we  are  going  to  like  him,  and  serve  him,  and  push  him " 

"Whither?"  inquired  Blondet. 

"Inquisitive  soul !"  said  Eastignac. 

"With  whom  will  he  take  up  to-night  ?"  de  Marsay  asked. 

"With  a  whole  seraglio,"  said  the  Vidame. 

"Plague  take  it!  What  can  we  have  done  that  the  dear 
Vidame  is  punishing  us  by  keeping  his  word  to  the  infanta  ? 
I  should  be  pitiable  indeed  if  I  did  not  know  her " 

"And  I  was  once  a  coxcomb  even  as  he,"  said  the  Vidame, 
indicating  de  Marsay. 

The  conversation  continued  pitched  in  the  same  key,  charm- 
ingly scandalous,  and  agreeably  corrupt.  The  dinner  went 
off  very  pleasantly.  Eastignac  and  de  Marsay  went  to  the 


204  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Opera  with  the  Vidame  and  Victurnien,  with  a  view  to  fol- 
lowing them  afterwards  to  Mile,  des  Touches'  salon.  And 
thither,  accordingly,  this  pair  of  rakas  betook  themselves,  cal- 
culating that  by  that  time  the  tragedy  would  have  been  read ; 
for  of  all  things  to  be  taken  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock 
at  night,  a  tragedy  in  their  opinion  was  the  most  unwhole- 
some. They  went  to  keep  a  watch  on  Victurnien  and  to  em- 
barrass him,  a  piece  of  schoolboy's  mischief  embittered  by  a 
jealous  dandy's  spite.  But  Victurnien  was  gifted  with  that 
page's  effrontery  which  is  a  great  help  to  ease  of  manner ;  and 
Eastignac,  watching  him  as  he  made  his  entrance,  was  sur- 
prised to  see  how  quickly  he  caught  the  tone  of  the 
moment. 

"That  young  d'Esgrignon  will  go  far,  will  he  not?"  he 
said,  addressing  his  companion. 

"That  is  as  may  be."  returned  de  Marsay,  "but  he  is  in  a 
fair  way." 

The  Vidame  introduced  his  young  friend  to  one  of  the 
most  amiable  and  frivolous  duchesses  of  the  day,  a  lady  whose 
adventures  caused  an  explosion  five  years  later.  Just  then, 
however,  she  was  in  the  full  blaze  of  her  glory ;  she  had  been 
suspected,  it  is  true,  of  equivocal  conduct;  but  suspicion, 
while  it  is  still  suspicion  and  not  proof,  marks  a  woman  out 
with  the  kind  of  distinction  which  slander  gives  to  a  man. 
Nonentities  are  never  slandered ;  they  chafe  because  they  are 
left  in  peace.  This  woman  was,  in  fact,  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  a  daughter  of  the  d'TJxelles ;  her  father-in-law 
was  still  alive;  she  was  not  to  be  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan 
for  some  years  to  come.  A  friend  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Langeais  and  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant,  two  glories  de- 
parted, she  was  likewise  intimate  with  the  Marquise  d'Espard, 
with  whom  she  disputed  her  fragile  sovereignty  as  queen  of 
fashion.  Great  relations  lent  her  countenance  for  a  long 
while,  but  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  was  one  of  those 
women  who,  in  some  way,  nobody  knows  how,  or  why,  or 
where,  will  spend  the  rents  of  all  the  lands  of  earth,  and  of 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  205 

the  moon  likewise,  if  they  were  not  out  of  reach.  The 
general  outline  of  her  character  was  scarcely  known  as  yet; 
de  Marsay,  and  de  Marsay  only,  really  had  read  her.  That 
redoubtable  dandy  now  watched  the  Vidame  de  Pamiers'  in- 
troduction of  his  young  friend  to  that  lovely  woman,  and 
bent  over  to  say  in  Rastignac's  ear : 

"My  dear  fellow,  he  will  go  up  whizz!  like  a  rocket,  and 
come  down  like  a  stick,"  an  atrociously  vulgar  saying  which 
was  remarkably  fulfilled. 

The  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  had  lost  her  heart  to  Vic- 
turnien  after  first  giving  her  mind  to  a  serious  study  of 
him.  Any  lover  who  should  have  caught  the  glance  by  which 
she  expressed  her  gratitude  to  the  Vidame  might  well  have 
been  jealous  of  such  friendship.  Women  are  like  horses  let 
loose  on  a  steppe  when  they  feel,  as  the  Duchess  felt  with  the 
Vidame  de  Pamiers,  that  the  ground  is  safe ;  at  such  moments 
they  are  themselves;  perhaps  it  pleases  them  to  give,  as  it 
were,  samples  of  their  tenderness  in  intimacy  in  this  way. 
It  was  a  guarded  glance,  nothing  was  lost  between  eye  and 
eye;  there  was  no  possibility  of  reflection  in  any  mirror. 
Nobody  intercepted  it. 

"See  how  she  has  prepared  herself/'  Rastignac  said,  turn- 
ing to  de  Marsay.  "What  a  virginal  toilette;  what  swan's 
grace  in  that  snow-white  throat  of  hers !  How  white  her 
gown  is,  and  she  is  wearing  a  sash  like  a  little  girl ;  she  looks 
round  like  a  madonna  inviolate.  Who  would  think  that  you 
had  passed  that  way?" 

"The  very  reason  why  she  looks  as  she  does,"  returned  de 
Marsay,  with  a  triumphant  air. 

The  two  young  men  exchanged  a  smile.  Mme.  de  Maufri- 
gneuse saw  the  smile  and  guessed  at  their  conversation,  and 
gave  the  pair  a  broadside  of  her  eyes,  an  art  acquired  by 
Frenchwomen  since  the  Peace,  when  Englishwomen  imported 
it  into  this  country,  together  with  the  shape  of  their  silver 
plate,  their  horses  and  harness,  and  the  piles  of  insular  ice 
which  impart  a  refreshing  coolness  to  the  atmosphere  of  any 
room  in  which  a  certain  number  of  British  females  are 


206  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

gathered  together.  The  young  men  grew  serious  as  a  couple 
of  clerks  at  the  end  of  a  homily  from  headquarters  before 
the  receipt  of  an  expected  bonus. 

The  Duchess  when  she  lost  her  heart  to  Victurnien  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  play  the  part  of  romantic  Innocence, 
a  role  much  understudied  subsequently  by  other  women,  for 
the  misfortune  of  modern  youth.  Her  Grace  of  Maufri- 
gneuse  had  just  come  out  as  an  angel  at  a  moment's  notice, 
precisely  as  she  meant  to  turn  to  literature  and  science  some- 
where about  her  fortieth  year  instead  of  taking  to  devotion. 
She  made  a  point  of  being  like  nobody  else.  Her 
parts,  her  dresses,  her  caps,  opinions,  toilettes,  and  man- 
ner of  acting  were  all  entirely  new  and  original.  Soon  after 
her  marriage,  when  she  was  scarcely  more  than  a  girl,  she 
had  played  the  part  of  a  knowing  and  almost  depraved  wo- 
man; she  ventured  on  risky  repartees  with  shallow  people, 
and  betrayed  her  ignorance  to  those  who  knew  better.  As 
the  date  of  that  marriage  made  it  impossible  to  abstract  one 
little  year  from  her  age  without  the  knowledge  of  Time,  and 
as  Her  Grace  had  reached  her  twenty-sixth  year,  she  had 
taken  it  into  her  head  to  be  immaculate.  She  scarcely 
seemed  to  belong  to  earth;  she  shook  out  her  wide  sleeves 
as  if  they  had  been  wings.  Her  eyes  fled  to  heaven  at  too 
warm  a  glance,  or  word,  or  thought. 

There  is  a  madonna  painted  by  Piola,  the  great  Genoese 
painter,  who  bade  fair  to  bring  out  a  second  edition  of 
Eaphael  till  his  career  was  cut  short  by  jealousy  and  murder ; 
his  madonna,  however,  you  may  dimly  discern  through  a 
pane  of  glass  in  a  little  street  in  Genoa. 

A  more  chaste-eyed  madonna  than  Piola's  does  not  exist; 
but  compared  with  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse,  that  heavenly 
creature  was  a  Messalina.  Women  wondered  among  them- 
selves how  such  a  giddy  young  thing  had  been  transformed 
by  a  change  of  dress  into  the  fair  veiled  seraph  who  seemed 
(to  use  an  expression  now  in  vogue)  to  have  a  soul  as  white 
as  new  fallen  snow  on  the  highest  Alpine  crests.  How  had 
she  solved  in  such  short  space  the  Jesuitical  problem  how  to 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  207 

display  a  bosom  whiter  than  her  soul  by  hiding  it  in  gauze? 
How  could  she  look  so  ethereal  while  her  eyes  drooped  so 
murderously?  Those  almost  wanton  glances  seemed  to  give 
promise  of  untold  languorous  delight,  while  by  an  ascetic's 
sigh  of  aspiration  after  a  better  life  the  mouth  appeared  to 
add  that  none  of  those  promises  would  be  fulfilled.  In- 
genuous youths  (for  there  were  a  few  to  be  found  in  the 
Guards  of  that  day)  privately  wondered  whether,  in  the  most 
intimate  moments,  it  were  possible  to  speak  familiarly  to  this 
White  Lady,  this  starry  vapor  slidden  down  from  the  Milky 
Way.  This  system,  which  answered  completely  for  some 
years  at  a  stretch,  was  turned  to  good  account  by  women 
of  fashion,  whose  breasts  were  lined  with  a  stout  philosophy, 
for  they  could  cloak  no  inconsiderable  exactions  with  these 
little  airs  from  the  sacristy.  Not  one  of  the  celestial  creatures 
but  was  quite  well  aware  of  the  possibilities  of  less  ethereal 
love  which  lay  in  the  longing  of  every  well-conditioned  male 
to  recall  such  beings  to  earth.  It  was  a  fashion  which  per- 
mitted them  to  abide  in  a  semi-religious,  semi-Ossianic 
empyrean ;  they  could,  and  did,  ignore  all  the  practical  details 
of  daily  life,  a  short  and  easy  method  of  disposing  of  many 
questions.  De  Marsay,  foreseeing  the  future  developments 
of  the  system,  added  a  last  word,  for  he  saw  that  Eastignac 
was  jealous  of  Victurnien. 

"My  boy,"  said  he,  "stay  as  you  are.  Our  Nucingen  will 
make  your  fortune,  whereas  the  Duchess  would  ruin  you. 
She  is  too  expensive." 

Rastignac  allowed  de  Marsay  to  go  without  asking  further 
questions.  He  knew  Paris.  He  knew  that  the  most  refined  and 
noble  and  disinterested  of  women — a  woman  who  cannot  be 
induced  to  accept  anything  but  a  bouquet — can  be  as  danger- 
ous an  acquaintance  for  a  young  man  as  any  opera  girl  o/ 
former  days.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  opera  girl  is  an  al- 
most mythical  being.  As  things  are  now  at  the  theatres, 
dancers  and  actresses  are  about  as  amusing  as  a  declaration  of 
the  rights  of  woman,  they  are  puppets  that  go  abroad  in  the 
morning  in  the  character  of  respected  and  respectable  mothers 

VOL.  7 — 36 


208  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

of  families,  and  act  men's  parts  in  tight-fitting  garments  at 
night. 

Worthy  M.  Chesnel,  in  his  country  notary's  office,  was 
right;  he  had  foreseen  one  of  the  reefs  on  which  the  Count 
might  make  shipwreck.  Victurnien  was  dazzled  by  the 
poetic  aureole  which  Mme.  de  Mauf  rigneuse  chose  to  assume ; 
he  was  chained  and  padlocked  from  the  first  hour  in  her 
company,  bound  captive  by  that  girlish  sash,  and  caught  by 
the  curls  twined  round  fairy  fingers.  Far  corrupted  the  boy 
was  already,  but  he  really  believed  in  that  farrago  of  maiden- 
liness  and  muslin,  in  sweet  looks  as  much  studied  as  an  Act 
of  Parliament.  And  if  the  one  man,  who  is  in  duty  bound  to 
believe  in  feminine  fibs,  is  deceived  by  them,  is  not  that 
enough  ? 

For  a  pair  of  lovers,  the  rest  of  their  species  are  about  as 
much  alive  as  figures  on  the  tapestry.  The  Duchess,  flattery 
apart,  was  avowedly  and  admittedly  one  of  the  ten  hand- 
somest women  in  society.  "The  loveliest  woman  in  Paris"  is, 
as  you  know,  as  often  met  with  in  the  world  of  love-making 
as  "the  finest  book  that  has  appeared  in  this  generation,"  in 
the  world  of  letters. 

The  converse  which  Victurnien  held  with  the  Duchess  can 
be  kept  up  at  his  age  without  too  great  a  strain.  He  was 
young  enough  and  ignorant  enough  of  life  in  Paris  to  feel 
no  necessity  to  be  upon  his  guard,  no  need  to  keep  a  watch 
over  his  lightest  words  and  glances.  The  religious  senti- 
mentalism,  which  finds  a  broadly  humorous  commentary  in 
the  after-thoughts  of  either  speaker,  puts  the  old-world 
French  chat  of  men  and  women,  with  its  pleasant  familiarity, 
its  lively  ease,  quite  out  of  the  question ;  they  make  love  in  a 
mist  nowadays. 

Victurnien  was  just  sufficient  of  an  unsophisticated  pro- 
vincial to  remain  suspended  in  a  highly  appropriate  and  un- 
feigned rapture  which  pleased  the  Duchess ;  for  women  are 
"no  more  to  be  deceived  by  the  comedies  which  men  play  than 
by  their  own.  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse  calculated,  not  without 
dismay,  that  the  young  Count's  infatuation  was  likely  to  hold 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  209 

good  for  six  whole  months  of  disinterested  love.  She  looked 
so  lovely  in  this  dove's  mood,  quenching  the  light  in  her  eyes 
by  thje  golden  fringe  of  their  lashes,  that  when  the  Marquise 
d'Espard  bade  her  friend  good-night,  she  whispered,  "Good ! 
very  good,  dear!"  And  with  those  farewell  words,  the  fair 
Marquise  left  her  rival  to  make  the  tour  of  the  modern  Pays 
du  Tendre;  which,  by  the  way,  is  not  so  absurd  a  conception 
as  some  appear  to  think.  New  maps  of  the  country  are  en- 
graved for  each  generation;  and  if  the  names  of  the  routes 
are  different,  they  still  lead  to  the  same  capital  city. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour's  tete-a-tete,  on  a  corner  sofa, 
under  the  eyes  of  the  world,  the  Duchess  brought  young 
d'Esgrignon  as  far  as  Scipio's  Generosity,  the  Devotion  of 
Amadis,  and  Chivalrous  Self-abnegation  (for  the  Middle 
Ages  were  just  coming  into  fashion,  with  their  daggers, 
machicolations,  hauberks,  chain-mail,  peaked  shoes,  and 
romantic  painted  card-board  properties).  She  had  an  ad- 
mirable turn,  moreover,  for  leaving  things  unsaid,  for  leaving 
ideas  in  a  discreet,  seeming  careless  way,  to  work  their  way 
down,  one  by  one,  into  Victurnien's  heart,  like  needles  into  a 
cushion.  She  possessed  a  marvelous  skill  in  reticence;  she 
was  charming  in  hypocrisy,  lavish  of  subtle  promises,  which 
revived  hope  and  then  melted  away  like  ice  in  the  sun  if  you 
looked  at  them  closely,  and  most  treacherous  in  the  desire 
which  she  felt  and  inspired.  At  the  close  of  this  charming 
encounter  she  produced  the  running  noose  of  an  invitation 
to  call,  and  flung  it  over  him  with  a  dainty  demureness  which 
the  printed  page  can  never  set  forth. 

"You  will  forget  me,"  she  said.  "You  will  find  so  many 
women  eager  to  pay  court  to  you  instead  of  enlightening 
you.  .  .  .  But  you  will  come  back  to  me  undeceived. 
Are  you  coming  to  me  first?  .  .  .  No.  As  you  will. — 
For  my  own  part.  I  tell  you  frankly  that  your  visits  will  be 
a  great  pleasure  to  me.  People  of  soul  are  so  rare,  and  I 
think  that  you  are  one  of  them. — Come,  good-bye ;  people  will 
begin  to  talk  about  us  if  we  talk  together  any  longer." 

She  made  good  her  words  and  took  flight.     Victurnien 


210  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWlX 

went  soon  afterwards,  but  not  before  others  had  guessed  his 
ecstatic  condition;  his  face  wore  the  expression  peculiar  to 
happy  men,  something  between  an  Inquisitor's  calm  discre- 
tion and  the  self-contained  beatitude  of  a  devotee,  fresh  from 
the  confessional  and  absolution. 

"Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse  went  pretty  briskly  to  the  point 
this  evening,"  said  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu,  when  only 
half-a-dozen  persons  were  left  in  Mile,  des  Touches'  little 
drawing-room — to  wit,  des  Lupeaulx,  a  Master  of  Requests, 
who  at  that  time  stood  very  well  at  court,  Vandenesse,  the 
Vicomtesse  de  Grandlieu,  Canalis,  and  Mme.  de  Serizy. 

"D'Esgrignon  and  Maufrigneuse  are  two  names  that  are 
sure  to  cling  together,"  said  Mme.  de  Serizy,  who  aspired  to 
epigram. 

"For  some  days  past  she  has  been  out  at  grass  on 
Platonism,"  said  des  Lupeaulx. 

"She  will  ruin  that  poor  innocent,"  added  Charles  de 
Vandenesse. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Mile,  des  Touches. 

"Oh,  morally  and  financially,  beyond  all  doubt,"  said  the 
Vicomtesse,  rising. 

The  cruel  words  were  cruelly  true  for  young  d'Esgrignon. 

Next  morning  he  wrote  to  his  aunt  describing  his  intro- 
duction into  the  high  world  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain 
in  bright  colors  flung  by  the  prism  of  love,  explaining  the 
reception  which  met  him  everywhere  in  a  way  which  gratified 
his  father's  family  pride.  The  Marquis  would  have  the  whole 
long  letter  read  to  him  twice;  he  rubbed  his  hands  when  he 
heard  of  the  Vidame  de  Pamiers'  dinner — the  Vidame  was 
an  old  acquaintance — and  of  the  subsequent  introduction  to 
the  Duchess;  but  at  Blondet's  name  he  lost  himself  in  con- 
jectures. What  could  the  younger  son  of  a  judge,  a  public 
prosecutor  during  the  Revolution,  have  been  doing  there  ? 

There  was  joy  that  evening  among  the  Collection  of  Antiq- 
uities. They  talked  over  the  young  Count's  success.  So  dis- 
creet were  they  with  regard  to  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse,  that 
ttie  one  man  who  heard  the  secret  was  the  Chevalier.  There 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  211 

was  no  financial  postscript  at  the  end  of  the  letter,  no  un- 
pleasant concluding  reference  to  the  sinews  of  war,  which 
every  young  man  makes  in  such  a  case.  Mile.  Armande 
showed  it  to  Chesnel.  Chesnel  was  pleased  and  raised  not  a 
single  objection.  It  was  clear,  as  the  Marquis  and  the  Cheva- 
lier agreed,  that  a  young  man  in  favor  with  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse  would  shortly  be  a  hero  at  court,  where  in  the 
old  days  women  were  all-powerful.  The  Count  had  not 
made  a  bad  choice.  The  dowagers  told  over  all  the  gallant 
adventures  of  the  Maufrigneuses  from  Louis  XIII.  to  Louis 
XVI. — they  spared  to  inquire  into  preceding  reigns — and 
when  all  was  done  they  were  enchanted. — Mme.  de  Maufri- 
gneuse was  much  praised  for  interesting  herself  in  Vic- 
turnien.  Any  writer  of  plays  in  search  of  a  piece  of  pure 
comedy  would  have  found  it  well  worth  his  while  to  listen 
to  the  Antiquities  in  conclave. 

Victurnien  received  charming  letters  from  his  father  and 
aunt,  and  also  from  the  Chevalier.  That  gentleman  recalled 
himself  to  the  Vidame's  memory.  He- had  been  at  Spa  with 
M.  de  Pamiers  in  1778,  after  a  certain  journey  made  by  a 
celebrated  Hungarian  princess.  And  Chesnel  also  wrote. 
The  fond  flattery  to  which  the  unhappy  boy  was  only  too  well 
accustomed  shone  out  of  every  page;  and  Mile.  Armande 
seemed  to  share  half  of  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse's  hap- 
piness. 

Thus  happy  in  the  approval  of  his  family,  the  young  Count 
made  a  spirited  beginning  in  the  perilous  and  costly  ways  of 
dandyism.  He  had  five  horses — he  was  moderate — de  Marsay 
had  fourteen !  He  returned  the  Yidame's  hospitality,  even  in- 
cluding Blondet  in  the  invitation,  as  well  as  de  Marsay  and 
Rastignac.  The  dinner  cost  five  hundred  francs,  and  the  noble 
provincial  was  feted  on  the  same  scale.  Victurnien  played  a 
good  deal,  and,  for  his  misfortune,  at  the  fashionable  game  of 
whist. 

He  laid  out  his  days  in  busy  idleness.  Every  day  between 
twelve  and  three  o'clock  he  was  with  the  Duchess;  after- 


212  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

wards  he  went  to  meet  her  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  and  ride 
beside  her  carriage.  Sometimes  the  charming  couple  rode 
together,  but  this  was  early  in  fine  summer  mornings. 
Society,  balls,  the  theatre,  and  gaiety  filled  the  Count's  even- 
ing hours.  Everywhere  Victurnien  made  a  brilliant  figure; 
everywhere  he  flung  the  pearls  of  his  wit  broadcast.  He  gave 
his  opinion  on  men,  affairs,  and  events  in  profound  sayings ;  he 
would  have  put  you  in  mind  of  a  fruit-tree  putting  forth  all 
its  strength  in  blossom.  He  was  leading  an  enervating  life, 
wasteful  of  money,  and  even  yet  more  wasteful,  it  may  be, 
of  a  man's  soul ;  in  that  life  the  fairest  talents  are  buried  out 
of  sight,  the  most  incorruptible  honesty  perishes,  the  best- 
tempered  springs  of  will  are  slackened. 

The  Duchess,  so  white  and  fragile  and  angel-like,  felt  at- 
tracted to  the  dissipations  of  bachelor  life;  she  enjoyed  first 
nights,  she  liked  anything  amusing,  anything  improvised. 
Bohemian  restaurants  lay  outside  her  experience ;  so  d'Esgri- 
gnon  got  up  a  charming  little  party  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale 
for  her  benefit,  asked  all  the  amiable  scamps  whom  she 
cultivated  and  sermonized,  and  there  was  a  vast  amount  of 
merriment,  wit,  and  gaiety,  and  a  corresponding  bill  to  pay. 
That  supper  party  led  to  others.  And  through  it  all  Vic- 
turnien worshiped  her  as  an  angel.  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse 
for  him  was  still  an  angel,  untouched  by  any  taint  of  earth ; 
an  angel  at  the  Varietes,  where  she  sat  out  the  half-obscene, 
vulgar  farces,  which  made  her  laugh;  an  angel  through  the 
cross-fire  of  highly-flavored  jests  and  scandalous  anecdotes, 
which  enlivened  a  stolen  frolic;  a  languishing  angel  in  the 
latticed  box  at  the  Vaudeville;  an  angel  while  she  criticised 
the  postures  of  opera  dancers  with  the  experience  of  an  elderly 
habitue  of  le  coin  de  la  reine;  an  angel  at  the  Porte  Saint- 
Martin,  at  the  little  boulevard  theatres,  at  the  masked  balls', 
which  she  enjoyed  like  any  schoolboy.  She  was  an  angel 
who  asked  him  for  the  love  that  lives  by  self-abnegation  and 
heroism  and  self-sacrifice ;  an  angel  who  would  have  her  lover 
live  like  an  English  lord,  with  an  income  of  a  million  francs. 
D'Esgrignon  once  exchanged  a  horse  because  the  animal's 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  213 

coat  did  not  satisfy  her  notions.  At  play  she  was  an  angel, 
and  certainly  no  bourgeoise  that  ever  lived  could  have  bidden 
d'Esgrignon  "Stake  for  me!"  in  such  an  angelic  way.  She 
was  so  divinely  reckless  in  her  folly,  that  a  man  might  well 
have  sold  his  soul  to  the  devil  lest  this  angel  should  lose  her 
taste  for  earthly  pleasures. 

The  first  winter  went  by.  The  Count  had  drawn  on  M. 
Cardot  for  the  trifling  sum  of  thirty  thousand  francs  over 
and  above  Chesnel's  remittance.  As  Cardot  very  carefully 
refrained  from  using  his  right  of  remonstrance,  Victurnien 
now  learned  for  the  first  time  that  he  had  overdrawn  his  ac- 
count. He  was  the  more  offended  by  an  extremely  polite  re- 
fusal to  make  any  further  advance,  since  it  so  happened  that 
he  had  just  lost  six  thousand  francs  at  play  at  the  club,  and 
he  could  not  very  well  show  himself  there  until  they  were 
paid. 

After  growing  indignant  with  Maitre  Cardot,  who  had 
trusted  him  with  thirty  thousand  francs  (Cardot  had  written 
to  Chesnel,  but  to  the  fair  Duchess'  favorite  he  made  the  most 
of  his  so-called  confidence  in  him),  after  all  this,  d'Esgrignon 
was  obliged  to  ask  the  lawyer  to  tell  him  how  to  set  about 
raising  the  money,  since  debts  of  honor  were  in  question. 

"Draw  bills  on  your  father's  banker,  and  take  them  to  his 
correspondent;  he,  no  doubt,  will  discount  them  for  you. 
Then  write  to  your  family,  and  tell  them  to  remit  the  amount 
to  the  banker." 

An  inner  voice  seemed  to  suggest  du  Croisier's  name  in 
this  predicament.  He  had  seen  du  Croisier  on  his  knees  to 
the  aristocracy,  and  of  the  man's  real  disposition  he  was  en- 
tirely ignorant.  So  to  du  Croisier  he  wrote  a  very  offhand 
letter,  informing  him  that  he  had  drawn  a  bill  of  exchange 
on  him  for  ten  thousand  francs,  adding  that  the  amount 
would  be  repaid  on  receipt  of  the  letter  either  by  M.  Chesnel 
or  by  Mile.  Armando  d'Esgrignon.  Then  he  indited  two 
touching  epistles — one  to  Chesnel,  another  to  his  aunt.  In 
the  matter  of  going  headlong  to  ruin,  a  young  man  often 


214  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

shows  singular  ingenuity  and  ability,  and  fortune  favors  him. 
In  the  morning  Victurnien  happened  on  the  name  of  the  Paris 
bankers  in  correspondence  with  du  Croisier,  and  de  Marsay 
furnished  him  with  the  Kellers'  address.  De  Marsay  knew 
everything  in  Paris.  The  Kellers  took  the  bill  and  gave  him 
the  sum  without  a  word,  after  deducting  the  discount.  The 
balance  of  the  account  was  in  du  Croisier's  favor. 

But  the  gaming  debt  was  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  the 
state  of  things  at  home.  Invoices  showered  in  upon 
Victurnien. 

"I  say !  Do  you  trouble  yourself  about  that  sort  of  thing  ?" 
Eastignac  said,  laughing.  "Are  you  putting  them  in  order, 
my  dear  boy?  I  did  not  think  you  were  so  business-like." 

"My  dear  fellow,  it  is  quite  time  I  thought  about  it ;  there 
are  twenty  odd  thousand  francs  there/' 

De  Marsay,  coming  in  to  look  up  d'Esgrignon  for  a  steeple- 
chase, produced  a  dainty  little  pocket-book,  took  out  twenty 
thousand  francs,  and  handed  them  co  him. 

"It  is  the  best  way  of  keeping  the  money  safe,"  said  he; 
"I  am  twice  enchanted  to  have  won  it  yesterday  from  my 
honored  father,  Milord  Dudley." 

Such  French  grace  completely  fascinated  d'Esgrignon;  he 
took  it  for  friendship;  and  as  to  the  money,  punctually  for- 
got to  pay  his  debts  with  it,  and  spent  it  on  his  pleasures. 
The  fact  was  that  de  Marsay  was  looking  on  with  an  unspeak- 
able pleasure  while  young  d'Esgrignon  "got  out  of  his  depth," 
in  dandy's  idiom ;  it  pleased  de  Marsay  in  all  sorts  of  fondling 
ways  to  lay  an  arm  on  the  lad's  shoulder ;  by  and  by  he  should 
feel  its  weight,  and  disappear  the  sooner.  For  de  Marsay 
was  jealous ;  the  Duchess  flaunted  her  love  affair ;  she  was  not 
at  home  to  other  visitors  when  d'Esgrignon  was  with  her. 
And  besides,  de  Marsay  was  one  of  those  savage  humorists 
who  delight  in  mischief,  as  Turkish  women  in  the  bath.  So, 
when  he  had  carried  off  the  prize,  and  bets  were  settled  at  the 
tavern  where  they  breakfasted,  and  a  bottle  or  two  of  good 
wine  had  appeared,  de  Marsay  turned  to  d'Esgrignon  with  a 
laugh : 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  215 

"Those  bills  that  you  are  worrying  over  are  not  yours,  1 
am  sure." 

"Eh !  if  they  weren't,  why  should  he  worry  himself  ?"  asked 
Eastignac. 

"And  whose  should  they  be  ?"  d'Esgrignon  inquired. 

"Then  you  do  not  know  the  Duchess'  position?"  queried 
de  Marsay,  as  he  sprang  into  the  saddle. 

"No,"  said  d'Esgrignon,  his  curiosity  aroused. 

"Well,  dear  fellow,  it  is  like  this,"  returned  de  Marsay — 
"thirty  thousand  francs  to  Victorine,  eighteen  thousand 
francs  to  Houbigaut,  lesser  amounts  to  Herbault,  Nattier, 
Nourtier,  and  those  Latour  people, — altogether  a  hundred 
thousand  francs." 

"An  angel !"  cried  d'Esgrignon,  with  eyes  uplifted  to 
heaven. 

"This  is  the  bill  for  her  wings,"  Rastignac  cried  face- 
tiously. 

"She  owes  all  that,  my  dear  boy,"  continued  de  Marsay, 
"precisely  because  she  is  an  angel.  But  we  have  all  seen 
angels  in  this  position,"  he  added,  glancing  at  Rastignac; 
"there  is  this  about  women  that  is  sublime :  they  understand 
nothing  of  money ;  they  do  not  meddle  with  it,  it  is  no  affair 
of  theirs;  they  are  invited  guests  at  the  'banquet  of  life,'  as 
some  poet  or  other  said  that  came  to  an  end  in  the  work- 
house." 

"How  do  you  know  this  when  I  do  not?"  d'Esgrignon 
artlessly  returned. 

"You  are  sure  to  be  the  last  to  know  it,  just  as  she  is  sure 
to  be  the  last  to  hear  that  you  are  in  debt." 

"I  thought  she  had  a  hundred  thousand  livres  a  year,"  said 
d'Esgrignon. 

"Her  husband,"  replied  de  Marsay,  "lives  apart  from  her. 
He  stays  with  his  regiment  and  practises  economy,  for  he 
has  one  or  two  little  debts  of  his  own  as  well,  has  our  dear 
Duke.  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  Just  learn  to  do  as  we  do 
and  keeD  our  friends'  accounts  for  them.  Mile.  Diane  (I  fell 
in  love  with  her  for  the  name's  sake),  Mile.  Diane  d'Uxelles 


216  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

brought  her  husband  sixty  thousand  livres  of  income ;  for  the 
last  eight  years  she  has  lived  as  if  she  had  two  hundred  thou- 
sand. It  is  perfectly  plain  that  at  this  moment  her  lands  are 
mortgaged  up  to  their  full  value ;  some  fine  morning  the  crash 
must  come,  and  the  angel  will  be  put  to  flight  by — must  it  be 
said? — by  sheriff's  officers  that  have  the  effrontery  to  lay 
hands  on  an  angel  just  as  they  might  take  hold  of  one 
of  us/' 

"Poor  angel !" 

"Lord !  it  costs  a  great  deal  to  dwell  in  a  Parisian  heaven ; 
you  must  whiten  your  wings  and  your  complexion  every  morn- 
ing/' said  Rastignac. 

Now  as  the  thought  of  confessing  his  debts  to  his  beloved 
Diane  had  passed  through  d'Esgrignon's  mind,  something 
like  a  shudder  ran  through  him  when  he  remembered  that  he 
still  owed  sixty  thousand  francs,  to  say  nothing  of  bills  to 
come  for  another  ten  thousand.  He  went  back  melancholy 
enough.  His  friends  remarked  his  ill-disguised  preoccupa- 
tion, and  spoke  of  it  among  themselves  at  dinner. 

"Young  d'Esgrignon  is  getting  out  of  his  depth.  He  is 
not  up  to  Paris.  He  will  blow  his  brains  out.  A  little 
fool !"  and  so  on  and  so  on. 

D'Esgrignon,  however,  promptly  took  comfort.  His  serv- 
ant brought  him  two  letters.  The  first  was  from  Chesnel. 
A  letter  from  Chesnel  smacked  of  the  stale  grumbling  faith- 
fulness of  honesty  and  its  consecrated  formulas.  With  all 
respect  he  put  it  aside  till  the  evening.  But  the  second 
letter  he  read  with  unspeakable  pleasure.  In  Ciceronian 
phrases,  du  Croisier  groveled  before  him,  like  a  Sganarelle 
before  a  Geronte,  begging  the  young  Count  in  future  to 
spare  him  the  affront  of  first  depositing  the  amount  of  the 
bills,  which  he  should  condescend  to  draw.  The  concluding 
phrase  seemed  meant  to  convey  the  idea  that  here  was  an  open 
cashbox  full  of  coin  at  the  service  of  the  noble  d'Esgrignon 
family.  So  strong  was  the  impression  that  Victurnien,  like 
Sganarelle  or  Mascarille  in  the  play,  like  everybody  else  who 
feels  a  twinge  of  conscience  at  his  finger-tips,  made  an  in- 
voluntary gesture. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  217 

Now  that  he  was  sure  of  unlimited  credit  with  the  Kel- 
lers, he  opened  Chesnel's  letter  gaily.  He  had  expected  four 
full  pages,  full  of  expostulation  to  the  brim ;  he  glanced  down 
the  sheet  for  the  familiar  words  "prudence,"  "honor,"  "de- 
termination to  do  right,"  and  the  like,  and  saw  something 
else  instead  which  made  his  head  swim. 

"MONSIEUR  LE  COMTE, — Of  all  my  fortune  I  have  now  but 
two  hundred  thousand  francs  left.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  ex- 
ceed that  amount,  if  you  should  do  one  of  the  most  devoted 
servants  of  your  family  the  honor  of  taking  it.  I  present  my 
respects  to  you.  CHESNEL." 

"He  is  one  of  Plutarch's  men,"  Victurnien  said  to  himself, 
as  he  tossed  the  letter  on  the  table.  He  felt  chagrined ;  such 
magnanimity  made  him  feel  very  small. 

"There !  one  must  reform,"  he  thought ;  and  instead  of 
going  to  a  restaurant  and  spending  fifty  or  sixty  francs  over 
his  dinner,  he  retrenched  by  dining  with  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  and  told  her  about  the  letter. 

"I  should  like  to  see  that  man,"  she  said,  letting  her  eyes 
shine  like  two  fixed  stars. 

"What  would  you  do?" 

<rWhy,  he  should  manage  my  affairs  for  me." 

Diane  de  Maufrigneuse  was  divinely  dressed;  she  meant 
her  toilet  to  do  honor  to  Victurnien.  The  levity  with  which 
she  treated  his  affairs  or,  more  properly  speaking,  his  debts 
fascinated  him. 

The  charming  pair  went  to  the  Italiens.  Never  had  that 
beautiful  and  enchanting  woman  looked  more  seraphic,  more 
ethereal.  Nobody  in  the  house  could  have  believed  that  she  had 
debts  which  reached  the  sum  total  mentioned  by  de  Marsay 
that  very  morning.  No  single  one  of  the  cares  of  earth  had 
touched  that  sublime  forehead  of  hers,  full  of  woman's  pride 
of  the  highest  kind.  In  her,  a  pensive  air  seemed  to  be 
some  gleam  of  an  earthly  love,  nobly  extinguished.  The  men 
tor  the  most  part  were  wagering  that  Victurnien,  with  his 


218  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

handsome  figure,  laid  her  under  contribution;  while  the  wo- 
men, sure  of  their  rival's  subterfuge,  admired  her  as  Michael 
Angelo  admired  Raphael,  in  petto.  Victurnien  loved  Diane, 
according  to  one  of  these  ladies,  for  the  sake  of  her  hair — 
she  had  the  most  beautiful  fair  hair  in  France;  another  main- 
tained that  Diane's  pallor  was  her  principal  merit,  for  she 
was  not  really  well  shaped,  her  dress  made  the  most  of  her 
figure;  yet  others  thought  that  Victurnien  loved  her  for  her 
foot,  her  one  good  point,  for  she  had  a  flat  figure.  But 
(and  this  brings  the  present-day  manner  of  Paris  before  you 
in  an  astonishing  manner)  whereas  all  the  men  said  that  the 
Duchess  was  subsidizing  Victurnien's  splendor,  the  women, 
on  the  other  hand,  gave  people  to  understand  that  it  was  Vic- 
turnien who  paid  for  the  angel's  wings,  as  Rastignac  said. 

As  they  drove  back  again,  Victurnien  had  it  on  the  tip  of 
his  tongue  a  score  of  times  to  open  this  chapter,  for  the 
Duchess'  debts  weighed  more  heavily  upon  his  mind  than 
his  own;  and  a  score  of  times  his  purpose  died  away  before 
the  attitude  of  the  divine  creature  beside  him.  He  could  see 
her  by  the  light  of  the  carriage  lamps;  she  was  bewitching 
in  the  love-languor  which  always  seemed  to  be  extorted  by 
the  violence  of  passion  from  her  madonna's  purity.  The 
Duchess  did  not  fall  into  the  mistake  of  talking  of  her  virtue, 
of  her  angel's  estate,  as  provincial  women,  her  imitators,  do. 
She  was  far  too  clever.  She  made  him,  for  whom  she  made 
such  great  sacrifices,  think  these  things  for  himself.  At  the 
end  of  six  months  she  could  make  him  feel  that  a  harmless 
kiss  on  her  hand  was  a  deadly  sin;  she  contrived  that  every 
grace  should  be  extorted  from  her,  and  this  with  such  con- 
summate art,  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  feel  that  she  was 
more  an  angel  than  ever  when  she  yielded. 

None  but  Parisian  women  are  clever  enough  always  to 
give  a  new  charm  to  the  moon,  to  romanticize  the  stars,  to 
roll  in  the  same  sack  of  charcoal  and  emerge  each  time  whiter 
than  ever.  This  is  the  highest  refinement  of  intellectual  and 
Parisian  civilization.  Women  beyond  the  Rhine  or  the  Eng- 
lish Channel  believe  nonsense  of  this  sort  when  they  utter 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  219 

It;  while  your  Parisienne  makes  her  lover  believe  that  she  is 
an  angel,  the  better  to  add  to  his  bliss  by  flattering  his  vanity 
on  both  sides — temporal  and  spiritual.  Certain  persons, 
detractors  of  the  Duchess,  maintain  that  she  was  the  first 
dupe  of  her  own  white  rnagic.  A  wicked  slander.  The 
Duchess  believed  in  nothing  but  herself. 

By  the  end  of  the  year  1823  the  Kellers  had  supplied  Vic- 
turnien  with  two  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  neither  Ches- 
nel  nor  Mile.  Armande  knew  anything  about  it.  He  had  had, 
besides,  two  thousand  crowns  from  Chesnel  at  one  time  and 
another,  the  better  to  hide  the  sources  on  which  he  was 
drawing.  He  wrote  lying  letters  to  his  poor  father  and  aunt, 
who  lived  on,  happy  and  deceived,  like  most  happy  people 
under  the  sun.  The  insidious  current  of  life  in  Paris  was 
bringing  a  dreadful  catastrophe  upon  the  great  and  noble 
house ;  and  only  one  person  was  in  the  secret  of  it.  This  was 
du  Croisier.  He  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully  as  he  went  past 
in  the  dark  and  looked  in  at  the  Antiquities.  He  had  good 
hope  of  attaining  his  ends ;  and  his  ends  were  not,  as  hereto- 
fore, the  simple  ruin  of  the  d'Esgrignons,  but  the  dishonor 
of  their  house.  He  felt  instinctively  at  such  times  that  his 
revenge  was  at  hand ;  he  scented  it  in  the  wind !  He  had  been 
sure  of  it  indeed  from  the  day  when  he  discovered  that  the 
young  Count's  burden  of  debt  was  growing  too  heavy  for  the 
boy  to  bear. 

Du  Croisier's  first  step  was  to  rid  himself  of  his  most 
hated  enemy,  the  venerable  Chesnel.  The  good  old  man  lived 
in  the  Kue  du  Bercail,  in  a  house  with  a  steep-pitched  roof. 
There  was  a  little  paved  courtyard  in  front,  where  the  rose- 
bushes grew  and  clambered  up  to  the  windows  of  the  upper 
story.  Behind  lay  a  little  country  garden,  with  its  box-edged 
borders,  shut  in  by  damp,  gloomy-looking  walls.  The  prim, 
gray-painted  street  door,  with  its  wicket  opening  and  bell 
attached,  announced  quite  as  plainly  as  the  official  scutcheon 
that  "a  notary  lives  here." 

It  was  half-past  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  at  which  hour 
the  old  man  usually  sat  digesting  his  dinner.  He  had  drawn 


220  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

his  black  leather-covered  armchair  before  the  fire,  and  put 
on  his  armor,  a  painted  pasteboard  contrivance  shaped  like 
a  top  boot,  which  protected  his  stockinged  legs  from  the  heat 
of  the  fire;  for  it  was  one  of  the  good  man's  habits  to  sit 
for  a  while  after  dinner  with  his  feet  on  the  dogs  and  to  stir 
up  the  glowing  coals.  He  always  ate  too  much ;  he  was  fond 
of  good  living.  Alas !  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  little  fail- 
ing, would  he  not  have  been  more  perfect  than  it  is  permitted 
to  mortal  man  to  be  ?  Chesnel  had  finished  his  cup  of  coffee. 
His  old  housekeeper  had  just  taken  away  the  tray  which  had 
been  used  for  the  purpose  for  the  last  twenty  years.  He  was 
waiting  for  his  clerks  to  go  before  he  himself  went  out  for  his 
game  at  cards,  and  meanwhile  he  was  thinking — no  need  to 
ask  of  whom  or  what.  A  day  seldom  passed  but  he  asked  him- 
self, "Where  is  he?  What  is  he  doing?"  He  thought  that 
the  Count  was  in  Italy  with  the  fair  Duchesse  de  Maufri- 
gneuse. 

When  every  franc  of  a  man's  fortune  has  come  to  him, 
not  by  inheritance,  but  through  his  own  earning  and  saving, 
it  is  one  of  his  sweetest  pleasures  to  look  back  upon  the  pains 
that  have  gone  to  the  making  of  it,  and  then  to  plan  out 
a  future  for  his  crowns.  This  it  is  to  conjugate  the  verb  "to 
enjoy"  in  every  tense.  And  the  old  lawyer,  whose  affections 
were  all  bound  up  in  a  single  attachment,  was  thinking  that 
all  the  carefully-chosen,  well-tilled  land  which  he  had  pinched 
and  scraped  to  buy  would  one  day  go  to  round  the  d'Esgri- 
gnon  estates,  and  the  thought  doubled  his  pleasure.  His 
pride  swelled  as  he  sat  at  his  ease  in  the  old  armchair;  and 
the  building  of  glowing  coals,  which  he  raised  with  the  tongs, 
sometimes  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  old  noble  house  built  up 
again,  thanks  to  his  care.  He  pictured  the  young  Count's 
prosperity,  and  toW  himself  that  he  had  done  well  to  live  for 
such  an  aim.  Chesnel  was  not  lacking  in  intelligence ;  sheer 
goodness  was  not  the  sole  source  of  his  great  devotion;  he 
had  a  pride  of  his  own;  he  was  like  the  nobles  who  used  to 
rebuild  a  pillar  in  a  cathedral  to  inscribe  their  name  upon  it ; 
he  meant  his  name  to  be  remembered  by  the  great  house  which 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  221 

he  hsd  restored.  Future  generations  of  d'Esgrignons  should 
speak  of  old  Chesnel.  Just  at  this  point  his  old  housekeeper 
came  in  with  signs  of  extreme  alarm  in  her  countenance. 

"Is  the  house  on  fire,  Brigitte?" 

"Something  of  the  sort,"  said  she.  "Here  is  M.  du  Croisier 
wanting  to  speak  to  you " 

"M.  du  Croisier,"  repeated  the  old  lawyer.  A  stab  of  cold 
misgiving  gave  him  so  sharp  a  pang  at  the  heart  that  he 
dropped  the  tongs.  "M.  du  Croisier  here!"  thought  he, 
"our  chief  enemy !" 

Du  Croisier  came  in  at  that  moment,  like  a  cat  that  scents 
milk  in  a  dairy.  He  made  a  bow,  seated  himself  quietly  in 
the  easy-chair  which  the  lawyer  brought  forward,  and  pro- 
duced a  bill  for  two  hundred  and  twenty-seven  thousand 
francs,  principal  and  interest,  the  total  amount  of  sums  ad- 
vanced to  M.  Victurnien  in  bills  of  exchange  drawn  upon  dv. 
Croisier,  and  duly  honored  by  him.  Of  these,  he  now  de- 
manded immediate  payment,  with  a  threat  of  proceeding  to 
extremities  with  the  heir-presumptive  of  the  house.  Chesnel 
turned  the  unlucky  letters  over  one  by  one,  and  asked  the 
enemy  to  keep  the  secret.  This  he  engaged  to  do  if  he  were 
paid  within  forty-eight  hours.  He  was  pressed  for  money ; 
he  had  obliged  various  manufacturers;  and  there  followed  a 
series  of  the  financial  fictions  by  which  neither  notaries  nor 
borrowers  are  deceived.  Chesnel's  eyes  were  dim;  he  could 
scarcely  keep  back  the  tears.  There  was  but  one  way  of 
raising  the  money;  he  must  mortgage  his  own  lands  up  to 
their  full  value.  But  when  du  Croisier  learned  the  difficulty 
in  the  way  of  repayment,  he  forgot  that  he  was  hard  pressed ; 
he  no  longer  wanted  ready  money,  and  suddenly  came  out 
with  a  proposal  to  buy  the  old  lawyer's  property.  The  sale 
was  completed  within  two  days.  Poor  Chesnel  could  not 
bear  the  thought  of  the  son  of  the  house  undergoing  a  five 
years'  imprisonment  for  debt.  So  in  a  few  days'  time  noth- 
ing remained  to  him  but  his  practice,  the  sums  that  were  due 
to  him,  and  the  house  in  which  he  lived.  Chesnel,  stripped 
of  all  his  lands,  paced  to  and  fro  in  his  private  office,  paneled 


P22  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

with  dark  oak,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  beveled  edges  of  the 
chestnut  cross-beams  of  the  ceiling,  or  on  the  trellised  vines 
in  the  garden  outside.  He  was  not  thinking  of  his  farms 
now,  nor  of  Le  Jard,  his  dear  house  in  the  country ;  not  he. 

"What  will  become  of  him?  He  ought  to  come  back;  they 
must  marry  him  to  some  rich  heiress,"  he  said  to  himself; 
and  his  eyes  were  dim,  his  head  heavy. 

How  to  approach  Mile.  Armande,  and  in  what  words  to 
break  the  news  to  her,  he  did  not  know.  The  man  who  had 
just  paid  the  debts  of  the  family  quaked  at  the  thought  of  con- 
fessing these  things.  He  went  from  the  Rue  du  Bercail  to  the 
Hotel  d'Esgrignon  with  pulses  throbbing  like  some  girl's  heart 
when  she  leaves  her  father's  roof  by  stealth,  not  to  return 
again  till  she  is  a  mother  and  her  heart  is  broken. 

Mile.  Armande  had  just  received  a  charming  letter,  charm- 
ing in  its  hypocrisy.  Her  nephew  was  the  happiest  man 
under  the  sun.  He  had  been  to  the  baths,  he  had  been 
traveling  in  Italy  with  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse,  and  now  sent 
his  journal  to  his  aunt.  Every  sentence  was  instinct  with 
love.  There  were  enchanting  descriptions  of  Venice,  and 
fascinating  appreciations  of  the  great  works  of  Venetian  art ; 
there  were  most  wonderful  pages  full  of  the  Duomo  at  Milan, 
and  again  of  Florence;  he  described  the  Apennines,  and 
how  they  differed  from  the  Alps,  and  how  in  some  village 
like  Chiavari  happiness  lay  all  around  you,  ready  made. 

The  poor  aunt  was  under  the  spell.  She  saw  the  far-off 
country  of  love,  she  saw,  hovering  above  the  land,  the  angel 
whose  tenderness  gave  to  all  that  beauty  a  burning  glow. 
She  was  drinking  in  the  letter  at  long  draughts ;  how  should 
it  have  been  otherwise  ?  The  girl  who  had  put  love  from  her 
was  now  a  woman  ripened  by  repressed  and  pent-up  passion, 
by  all  the  longings  continually  and  gladly  offered  up  as  a 
sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  the  hearth.  Mile.  Armande  was  not 
like  the  Duchess.  She  did  not  look  like  an  angel.  She  was 
rather  like  the  little,  straight,  slim  and  slender,  ivory-tinted 
statues,  which  those  wonderful  sculptors,  the  builders  of 
cathedrals,  placed  here  and  there  about  the  buildings.  Wild 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  228 

plants  sometimes  find  a  hold  in  the  damp  niches,  and  weave 
a  crown  of  beautiful  bluebell  flowers  about  the  carved  stone. 
At  this  moment  the  blue  buds  were  unfolding  in  the  fair 
saint's  eyes.  Mile.  Armande  loved  the  charming  couple  as 
if  they  stood  apart  from  real  life;  she  saw  nothing  wrong  in 
a  married  woman's  love  for  Victurnien ;  any  other  woman  she 
would  have  judged  harshly ;  but  in  this  case,  not  to  have  loved 
her  nephew  would  have  been  the  unpardonable  sin.  Aunts, 
mothers,  and  sisters  have  a  code  of  their  own  for  nephews  and 
sons  and  brothers. 

Mile.  Armande  was  in  Venice;  she  saw  the  lines  of  fairy 
palaces  that  stand  on  either  side  of  the  Grand  Canal ;  she  was 
sitting  in  Victurnien's  gondola  ;he  was  telling  her  what  happi- 
ness it  had  been  to  feel  that  the  Duchess'  beautiful  hand  lay  in 
his  own,  to  know  that  she  loved  him  as  they  floated  together  on 
the  breast  of  the  amorous  Queen  of  Italian  seas.  But  even  in 
that  moment  of  bliss,  such  as  angels  know,  some  one  appeared 
in  the  garden  walk.  It  was  Chesnel !  Alas !  the  sound  of 
his  tread  on  the  gravel  might  have  been  the  sound  of  the 
sands  running  from  Death's  hour-glass  to  be  trodden  under 
his  unshod  feet.  The  sound,  the  sight  of  a  dreadful  hopeless- 
ness in  Chesnel's  face,  gave  her  that  painful  shock  which  fol- 
lows a  sudden  recall  of  the  senses  when  the  soul  has  sent  them 
forth  into  the  world  of  dreams. 

"What  is  it  ?"  she  cried,  as  if  some  stab  had  pierced  to  her 
heart. 

"All  is  lost !"  said  Chesnel.  "M.  le  Comte  will  bring  dis- 
honor upon  the  house  if  we  do  not  set  it  in  order."  He  held 
out  the  bills,  and  described  the  agony  of  the  last  few  days  in 
a  few  simple  but  vigorous  and  touching  words. 

"He  is  deceiving  us !  The  miserable  boy !"  cried  Mile. 
Armande,  her  heart  swelling  as  the  blood  surged  back  to  it 
in  heavy  throbs. 

"Let  us  both  say  mea  culpa,  mademoiselle,"  the  old  lawyer 
said  stoutly;  "we  have  always  allowed  him  to  have  his  own 
way;  he  needed  stern  guidance;  he  could  not  have  it  from 
you  with  your  inexperience  of  life ;  nor  from  me,  for  he  would 

not  listen  to  me.     He  has  had  no  mother." 
VOL.  7—37 


224  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"Fate  sometimes  deals  terribly  with  a  noble  house  in  de- 
cay/* said  Mile.  Armande,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

The  Marquis  came  up  as  she  spoke.  He  had  been  walking 
up  and  down  the  garden  while  he  read  the  letter  sent  by  his 
son  after  his  return.  Victurnien  gave  his  itinerary  from  an 
aristocrat's  point  of  view;  telling  how  he  had  been  welcomed 
by  the  greatest  Italian  families  of  Genoa,  Turin,  Milan, 
Florence,  Venice,  Home,  and  Naples.  This  flattering  recep- 
tion  he  owed  to  his  name,  he  said,  and  partly,  perhaps,  to  the 
Duchess  as  well.  In  short,  he  had  made  his  appearance 
magnificently,  and  as  befitted  a  d'Esgrignon. 

"Have  you  been  at  your  old  tricks,  Chesnel?"  asked  the 
Marquis. 

Mile.  Armande  made  Chesnel  an  eager  sign,  dreadful  to 
see.  They  understood  each  other.  The  poor  father,  the 
flower  of  feudal  honor,  must  die  with  all  his  illusions.  A 
compact  of  silence  and  devotion  was  ratified  between  the  two 
noble  hearts  by  a  simple  inclination  of  the  head. 

"Ah!  Chesnel,  it  was  not  exactly  in  this  way  that  the 
d'Esgrignons  went  into  Italy  at  the  end  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  when  Marshal  Trivulzio,  in  the  service  of  the  King 
of  France,  served  under  a  d'Esgrignon,  who  had  a  Bayard  too 
under  his  orders.  Other  times,  other  pleasures.  And,  for 
that  matter,  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  is  at  least  the 
equal  of  a  Marchesa  di  Spinola." 

And,  on  the  strength  of  his  genealogical  tree,  the  old  man 
swung  himself  off  with  a  coxcomb's  air,  as  if  he  himself  had 
once  made  a  conquest  of  the  Marchesa  di  Spinola,  and  still 
possessed  the  Duchess  of  to-day. 

The  two  companions  in  unhappiness  were  left  together  on 
the  garden  bench,  with  the  same  thought  for  a  bond  of  union. 
They  sat  for  a  long  time,  saying  little  save  vague,  unmean- 
ing words,  watching  the  father  walk  away  in  his  happiness, 
gesticulating  as  if  he  were  talking  to  himself. 

"What  will  become  of  him  now?"  Mile.  Armande  asked 
after  a  while. 

"Du  Croisier  has  sent  instructions  to  the  MM.  Keller;  he 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  225 

fs  not  to  be  allowed  to  draw  any  more  without  authoriza- 
tion." 

"And  there  are  debts/'  continued  Mile.  Armande. 

"I  am  afraid  so." 

"If  he  is  left  without  resources,  what  will  he  do?'* 

"I  dare  not  answer  that  question  to  myself." 

"But  he  must  be  drawn  out  of  that  life,  he  must  come  back 
to  us,  or  he  will  have  nothing  left." 

"And  nothing  else  left  to  him,"  Chesnel  said  gloomily.  But 
Mile.  Armande  as  yet  did  not  and  could  not  understand  the 
full  force  of  those  words. 

"Is  there  any  hope  of  getting  him  away  from  that  woman, 
that  Duchess?  Perhaps  she  leads  him  on." 

"He  would  not  stick  at  a  crime  to  be  with  her,"  said 
Chesnel,  trying  to  pave  the  way  to  an  intolerable  thought  by 
others  less  intolerable. 

"Crime,"  repeated  Mile.  Armande.  "Oh,  Chesnel,  no  one 
but  you  would  think  of  such  a  thing!"  she  added,  with  a 
withering  look;  before  such  a  look  from  a  woman's  eyes  no 
mortal  can  stand.  "There  is  but  one  crime  that  a  noble 
can  commit — the  crime  of  high  treason;  and  when  he  is  be- 
headed, the  block  is  covered  with  a  black  cloth,  as  it  is  for 
kings." 

"The  times  have  changed  very  much,"  said  Chesnel,  shak- 
ing his  head.  Victurnien  had  thinned  his  last  thin,  white 
hairs.  "Our  Martyr-King  did  not  die  like  the  English  King 
Charles." 

That  thought  soothed  Mile.  Armande's  splendid  indigna- 
tion ;  a  shudder  ran  through  her ;  but  still  she  did  not  realize 
what  Chesnel  meant. 

"To-morrow  we  will  decide  what  we  must  do,"  she  said; 
"it  needs  thought.  At  the  worst,  we  have  our  lands." 

"Yes,"  said  Chesnel.  "You  and  M.  le  Marquis  own  the 
estate  conjointly;  but  the  larger  part  of  it  is  yours.  You 
can  raise  money  upon  it  without  saying  a  word  to  him." 

The    players    at    whist,    reversis,    boston,    and    back- 


226  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

gammon  noticed  that  evening  that  Mile.  Armande's  features, 
usually  so  serene  and  pure,  showed  signs  of  agitation. 

"That  poor  heroic  child  \})  said  the  old  Marquise  de 
Casteran,  "she  must  be  suffering  still.  A  woman  never  knows 
what  her  sacrifices  to  her  family  may  cost  her." 

Next  day  it  was  arranged  with  Chesnel  that  Mile.  Armande 
should  go  to  Paris  to  snatch  her  nephew  from  perdition.  If 
any  one  could  carry  off  Victurnien,  was  it  not  the  woman 
whose  motherly  heart  yearned  over  him?  Mile.  Armande 
made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  go  to  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse  and  tell  her  all.  Still,  some  sort  of  pretext 
was  necessary  to  explain  the  journey  to  the  Marquis  and  the 
whole  town.  At  some  cost  to  her  maidenly  delicacy,  Mile. 
Armande  allowed  it  to  be  thought  that  she  was  suffering  from 
a  complaint  which  called  for  a  consultation  of  skilled  and 
celebrated  physicians.  Goodness  knows  whether  the  town 
talked  of  this  or  no !  But  Mile.  Armande  saw  that  some- 
thing far  more  to  her  than  her  own  reputation  was  at  stake. 
She  set  out.  Chesnel  brought  her  his  last  bag  of  louis;  she 
took  it,  without  paying  any  attention  to  it,  as  she  took  her 
white  capuchine  and  thread  mittens. 

"Generous  girl !  What  grace !"  he  said,  as  he  put  her  into 
the  carriage  with  her  maid,  a  woman  who  looked  like  a  gray 
sister. 

Du  Croisier  had  thought  out  his  revenge,  as  provincials 
think  out  everything.  For  studying  out  a  question  in  all  its 
bearings,  there  are  no  folk  in  this  world  like  savages,  peasants, 
and  provincials;  and  this  is  how,  when  they  proceed  from 
thought  to  action,  you  find  every  contingency  provided  for 
from  beginning  to  end.  Diplomatists  are  children  compared 
with  these  classes  of  mammals;  they  have  time  before  them, 
an  element  which  is  lacking  to  those  people  who  are  obliged 
to  think  about  a  great  many  things,  to  superintend  the  prog- 
ress of  all  kinds  of  schemes,  to  look  forward  for  all  sorts  of 
contingencies  in  the  wider  interests  of  human  affairs.  Had 
du  Croisier  sounded  poor  Victurnien's  nature  so  well,  that 
he  foresaw  how  easily  the  young  Count  would  lend  himself 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  227 

to  his  schemes  of  revenge?  Or  was  he  merely  profiting  by 
an  opportunity  for  which  he  had  been  on  the  watch  for 
years  ?  One  circumstance  there  was,  to  be  sure,  in  his  man- 
ner of  preparing  his  stroke,  which  shows  a  certain  skill. 
Who  was  it  that  gave  du  Croisier  warning  of  the  moment? 
Was  it  the  Kellers  ?  Or  could  it  have  been  President  du  Ron- 
ceret's  son,  then  finishing  his  law  studies  in  Paris? 

Du  Croisier  wrote  to  Victurnien,  telling  him  that  the  Kel- 
lers had  been  instructed  to  advance  no  more  money ;  and  that 
letter  was  timed  to  arrive  just  as  the  Duchesse  de  Maufri- 
gneuse  was  in  the  utmost  perplexity,  and  the  Comte  d'Esgri- 
gnon  consumed  by  the  sense  of  a  poverty  as  dreadful  as  it  was 
cunningly  hidden.  The  wretched  young  man  was  exerting 
all  his  ingenuity  to  seem  as  if  he  were  wealthy ! 

Now  in  the  letter  which  informed  the  victim  that  in  future 
the  Kellers  would  make  no  further  advances  without  security, 
there  was  a  tolerably  wide  space  left  between  the  forms  of 
an  exaggerated  respect  and  the  signature.  It  was  quite  easy 
to  tear  off  the  best  part  of  the  letter  and  convert  it  into  a 
bill  of  exchange  for  any  amount.  The  diabolical  missive  had 
even  been  enclosed  in  an  envelope,  so  that  the  other  side  of  the 
sheet  was  blank.  When  it  arrived,  Victurnien  was  writhing 
in  the  lowest  depths  of  despair.  After  two  years  of  the  most 
prosperous,  sensual,  thoughtless,  and  luxurious  life,  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  the  most  inexorable  poverty ;  it  was 
an  absolute  impossibility  to  procure  money.  There  had  been 
some  throes  of  crisis  before  the  journey  came  to  an  end. 
With  the  Duchess'  help  he  had  managed  to  extort  various 
sums  from  bankers;  but  it  had  been  with  the  greatest 
difficulty,  and,  moreover,  those  very  amounts  were  about  to 
start  up  again  before  him  as  overdue  bills  of  exchange  in  all 
their  rigor,  with  a  stern  summons  to  pay  from  the  Bank 
of  France  and  the  commercial  court.  All  through  the  en- 
joyments of  those  last  weeks  the  unhappy  boy  had  felt  the 
point  of  the  Commander's  sword;  at  every  supper-party  he 
heard,  like  Don  Juan,  the  heavy  tread  of  the  statue  outside 
upon  the  stairs.  He  felt  an  unaccountable  creeping  of  the  flesh, 


228  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

a  warning  that  the  sirocco  of  debt  is  nigh  at  hand.  He 
reckoned  on  chance.  For  five  years  he  had  never  turned  up 
a  blank  in  the  lottery ;  his  purse  had  always  been  replenished. 
After  Chesnel  had  come  du  Croisier  (he  told  himself),  after 
du  Croisier  surely  another  gold  mine  would  pour  out  its 
wealth.  And  besides,  he  was  winning  great  sums  at  play; 
his  luck  at  play  had  saved  him  several  unpleasant  steps  al- 
ready; and  often  a  wild  hope  sent  him  to  the  Salon  des 
Etrangers  only  to  lose  his  winnings  afterwards  at  whist  at  the 
club.  His  life  for  the  past  two  months  had  been  like  the 
immortal  finale  of  Mozart's  Don  Giovanni;  and  of  a  truth, 
if  a  young  man  has  come  to  such  a  plight  as  Victurnien's, 
that  finale  is  enough  to  make  him  shudder.  Can  anything 
better  prove  the  enormous  power  of  music  than  that  sublime 
rendering  of  the  disorder  and  confusion  arising  out  of  a  life 
wholly  given  up  to  sensual  indulgence?  that  fearful  picture 
of  a  deliberate  effort  to  shut  out  the  thought  of  debts  and 
duels,  deceit  and  evil  luck?  In  that  music  Mozart  disputes 
the  palm  with  Moliere.  The  terrific  finale,  with  its  glow,  its 
power,  its  despair  and  laughter,  its  grisly  spectres  and  elfish 
women,  centres  about  the  prodigal's  last  effort  made  in  the 
after-supper  heat  of  wine,  the  frantic  struggle  which  ends 
the  drama.  Victurnien  was  living  through  this  infernal 
poem,  and  alone.  He  saw  visions  of  himself — a  friendless, 
solitary  outcast,  reading  the  words  carved  on  the  stone,  the 
last  words  on  the  last  page  of  the  book  that  had  held  him 
spellbound — THE  END  ! 

Yes;  for  him  all  would  be  at  an  end,  and  that  soon.  Al- 
ready he  saw  the  cold,  ironical  eyes  which  his  associates  would 
turn  upon  him,  and  their  amusement  over  his  downfall. 
Some  of  them  he  knew  were  playing  high  on  that  gambling- 
table  kept  open  all  day  long  at  the  Bourse,  or  in  private 
houses  at  the  clubs,  and  anywhere  and  everywhere  in  Paris; 
but  not  one  of  these  men  could  spare  a  banknote  to  save  an 
intimate.  There  was  no  help  for  it — Chesnel  must  be  ruined. 
He  had  devoured  Chesnel's  living. 

He  sat  with  the  Duchess  in  their  box  at  the  Italiens,  the 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  229 

whole  house  envying  them  their  happiness,  and  while  he 
smiled  at  her,  all  the  Furies  were  tearing  at  his  heart.  In- 
deed, to  give  some  idea  of  the  depths  of  doubt,  despair,  and 
incredulity  in  which  the  boy  was  groveling;  he  who  so  clung 
to  life — the  life  which  the  angel  had  made  so  fair — who  so 
loved  it,  that  he  would  have  stooped  to  baseness  merely  to 
live;  he,  the  pleasure-loving  scapegrace,  the  degenerate 
d'Esgrignon,  had  even  taken  out  his  pistols,  had  gone  so  far 
as  to  think  of  suicide.  He  who  would  never  have  brooked  the 
appearance  of  an  insult  was  abusing  himself  in  language 
which  no  man  is  likely  to  hear  except  from  himself. 

He  left  du  Croisier's  letter  lying  open  on  the  bed. 
Josephin  had  brought  it  in  at  nine  o'clock.  Victurnien's 
furniture  had  been  seized,  but  he  slept  none  the  less.  After 
he  came  back  from  the  Opera,  he  and  the  Duchess  had  gone 
to  a  voluptuous  retreat,  where  they  often  spent  a  few  hours 
together  after  the  most  brilliant  court  balls  and  evening 
parties  and  gaieties.  Appearances  were  very  cleverly  saved. 
Their  love-nest  was  a  garret  like  any  other  to  all  appearance ; 
Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse  was  obliged  to  bow  her  head  with  its 
court  feathers  or  wreath  of  flowers  to  enter  in  at  the  door; 
but  within  all  the  peris  of  the  East  had  made  the  chamber 
fair.  And  now  that  the  Count  was  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  he 
had  longed  to  bid  farewell  to  the  dainty  nest,  which  he  had 
built  to  realize  a  day-dream  worthy  of  his  angel.  Presently 
adversity  \vould  break  the  enchanted  eggs ;  there  would  be  no 
brood  of  white  doves,  no  brilliant  tropical  birds,  no  more  of 
the  thousand  bright-winged  fancies  which  hover  above  our 
heads  even  to  the  last  days  of  our  lives.  Alas  !  alas !  in  three 
days  he  must  be  gone ;  his  bills  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
the  money-lenders,  the  law  proceedings  had  reached  the  last 
stage. 

An  evil  thought  crossed  his  brain.  He  would  fly  with 
the  Duchess;  they  would  live  in  some  undiscovered  nook  in 
the  wilds  of  North  or  South  America ;  but — he  would  fly  with 
a  fortune,  and  leave  his  creditors  to  confront  their  bills.  To 
carry  out  the  plan,  he  had  only  to  cut  off  the  lower  portion 


230  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

of  that  letter  with  du  Croisier's  signature,  and  to  fill  in  the 
figures  to  turn  it  into  a  bill,  and  present  it  to  the  Kellers. 
There  was  a  dreadful  struggle  with  temptation;  tears  were 
shed,  but  the  honor  of  the  family  triumphed,  subject  to  one 
condition.  Victurnien  wanted  to  be  sure  of  his  beautiful 
Diane;  he  would  do  nothing  unless  she  should  consent  to 
their  flight.  So  he  went  to  the  Duchess  in  the  Eue  Faubourg 
Saint-Honore,  and  found  her  in  coquettish  morning  dress, 
which  cost  as  much  in  thought  as  in  money,  a  fit  dress  in 
which  to  begin  to  play  the  part  of  Angel  at  eleven  o'clock  in 
the  morning. 

Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse  was  somewhat  pensive.  Cares 
of  a  similar  kind  were  gnawing  her  mind ;  but  she  took  them 
gallantly.  Of  all  the  various  feminine  organizations 
classified  by  physiologists,  there  is  one  that  has  something 
indescribably  terrible  about  it.  Such  women  combine 
strength  of  soul  and  clear  insight,  with  a  faculty  for  prompt 
decision,  and  a  recklessness,  or  rather  resolution  in  a  crisis 
which  would  shake  a  man's  nerves.  And  these  powers  lie  out 
of  sight  beneath  an  appearance  of  the  most  graceful  helpless- 
ness. Such  women  only  among  womankind  afford  examples 
of  a  phenomenon  which  Buffon  recognized  in  men  alone,  to 
wit,  the  union,  or  rather  the  disunion,  of  two  different  natures 
in  one  human  being.  Other  women  are  wholly  women; 
wholly  tender,  wholly  devoted,  wholly  mothers,  completely 
null  and  completely  tiresome ;  nerves  and  brain  and  blood 
are  all  in  harmony;  but  the  Duchess,  and  others  like  her, 
are  capable  of  rising  to  the  highest  heights  of  feelings,  or 
of  showing  the  most  selfish  insensibility.  It  is  one  of  the 
glories  of  Moliere  that  he  has  given  us  a  wonderful  portrait 
of  such  a  woman,  from  one  point  of  view  only,  in  that  great- 
est of  his  full-length  figures — Celimene;  Celimene  is  the 
typical  aristocratic  woman,  as  Figaro,  the  second  edition  of 
Panurge,  represents  the  people. 

So  the  Duchess,  being  overwhelmed  with  debt,  laid  it  upon 
herself  to  give  no  more  than  a  moment's  thought  to  the 
avalanche  of  cares,  and  to  take  her  resolution  once  and  for 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  231 

all;  Napoleon  could  take  up  or  lay  down  the  burden  of  his 
thoughts  in  precisely  the  same  way.  The  Duchess  possessed 
the  faculty  of  standing  aloof  from  herself;  she  could  look  on 
as  a  spectator  at  the  crash  when  it  came,  instead  of  submitting 
to  be  buried  beneath.  This  was  certainly  great,  but  repulsive 
in  a  woman.  When  she  awoke  in  the  morning  she  collected 
her  thoughts;  and  by  the  time  she  had  begun  to  dress  she 
had  looked  at  the  danger  in  its  fullest  extent  and  faced  the 
possibilities  of  terrific  downfall.  She  pondered.  Should 
she  take  refuge  in  a  foreign  country?  Or  shonld  she  go  to 
the  King  and  declare  her  debts  to  him  ?  Or  agiin,  should  she 
fascinate  a  du  Tillet  or  a  Nucingen,  and  gamble  on  the 
stock  exchange  to  pay  her  creditors?  The  city  man  would 
find  the  money;  he  would  be  intelligent  enough  to  bring  her 
nothing  but  the  profits,  without  so  much  as  mentioning  the 
losses,  a  piece  of  delicacy  which  would  gloss  all  over.  The 
catastrophe,  and  these  various  ways  of  averting  it,  had  all 
been  reviewed  quite  coolly,  calmly,  and  without  trepida- 
tion. 

As  a  naturalist  takes  up  some  king  of  butterflies  and 
fastens  him  down  on  cotton-wool  with  a  pin,  so  Mme.  de 
Maufrigneuse  had  plucked  love  out  of  her  heart  while  she 
pondered  the  necessity  of  the  moment,  and  was  quite  ready  to 
replace  the  beautiful  passion  on  its  immaculate  setting  so 
soon  as  her  duchess'  coronet  was  safe.  She  knew  none  of 
the  hesitation  which  Cardinal  Richelieu  hid  from  all  the  world 
but  Pere  Joseph ;  none  of  the  doubts  that  Napoleon  kept  at 
first  entirely  to  himself .  "Either  the  one  or  the  other,"  she 
told  herself. 

She  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  giving  orders  for  her  toilette 
for  a  drive  in  the  Bois  if  the  weather  should  be  fine,  when 
Victurnien  came  in. 

The  Comte  d'Esgrignon,  with  all  his  stifled  capacity,  his 
go  keen  intellect,  was  in  exactly  the  state  which  might  have 
been  looked  for  in  the  woman.  His  heart  was  beating 
violently,  the  perspiration  broke  out  over  him  as  he  stood 
in  his  dandy's  trappings ;  he  was  afraid  as  yet  to  lay  a  hand 


232  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

on  the  corner-stone  which  upheld  the  pyramid  of  his  life 
with  Diane.  So  much  it  cost  him  to  know  the  truth.  The 
cleverest  men  are  fain  to  deceive  themselves  on  one  or  two 
points  if  the  truth  once  known  is  likely  to  humiliate  them 
in  their  own  eyes,  and  damage  themselves  with  themselves. 
Victurnien  forced  his  own  irresolution  into  the  field  by  com- 
mitting himself. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  Diane  de  Maufrigneuse 
had  said  at  once,  at  the  sight  of  her  beloved  Victurnien's 
face. 

"Why,  dear  Diane,  I  am  in  such  perplexity;  a  man  gone 
to  the  bottom  and  at  his  last  gasp  is  happy  in  comparison." 

"Pshaw  !  it  is  nothing,"  said  she ;  "you  are  a  child.  Let  us' 
see  now;  tell  me  about  it." 

"I  am  hopelessly  in  debt.  I  have  come  to  the  end  of  my 
tether." 

"Is  that  all?"  said  she,  smiling  at  him.  "Money  matters 
can  always  be  arranged  somehow  or  other;  nothing  is  ir- 
retrievable except  disasters  in  love." 

Victurnien's  mind  being  set  at  rest  by  this  swift  com- 
prehension of  his  position,  he  unrolled  the  bright-colored 
web  of  his  life  for  the  last  two  years  and  a  half;  but  it  was 
the  seamy  side  of  it  which  he  displayed  with  something  of 
genius,  and  still  more  of  wit,  to  his  Diane.  He  told  his  tale 
with  the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  which  fails  no  one  in 
great  crises;  he  had  sufficient  artistic  skill  to  set  it  off  by  a 
varnish  of  delicate  scorn  for  men  and  things.  It  was  an 
aristocrat  who  spoke.  And  the  Duchess  listened  as  she  could 
listen. 

One  knee  was  raised,  for  she  sat  with  her  foot  on  a  stool. 
She  rested  her  elbow  on  her  knee  and  leant  her  face  on  her 
hand  so  that  her  fingers  closed  daintily  over  her  shapely  chin 
Her  eyes  never  left  his ;  but  thoughts  by  myriads  flitted  under 
the  blue  surface,  like  gleams  of  stormy  light  between  two 
clouds.  Her  forehead  was  calm,  her  mouth  gravely  intent — 
grave  with  love;  her  lips  were  knotted  fast  by  Victurnien's 
lips.  To  have  her  listening  thus  was  to  believe  that  a  divine 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  23? 

love  flowed  from  her  heart.  Wherefore,  when  the  Count  had 
proposed  flight  to  this  soul,  so  closely  knit  to  his  own,  he  could 
not  help  crying,  "You  are  an  angel  I" 

The  fair  Maufrigneuse  made  silent  answer;  but  she  had 
not  spoken  as  yet. 

"Good,  very  good,"  she  said  at  last.  (She  had  not  given 
herself  up  to  the  love  expressed  in  her  face;  her  mind  had 
been  entirely  absorbed  by  deep-laid  schemes  which  she  kept  to 
herself.)  "But  that  is  not  the  question,  dear."  (The 
"angel"  was  only  "that"  by  this  time.)  "Let  us  think  of 
your  affairs.  Yes,  we  will  go,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  Ar- 
range it  all ;  I  will  follow  you.  It  is  glorious  to  leave  Paris 
and  the  world  behind.  I  will  set  about  my  preparations  in 
such  a  way  that  no  one  can  suspect  anything." 

/  will  follow  you!  Just  so  Mile.  Mars  might  have  spoken 
those  words  to  send  a  thrill  through  two  thousand  listening 
men  and  women.  When  a  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  offers, 
in  such  words,  to  make  such  a  sacrifice  to  love,  she  has  paid 
her  debt.  How  should  Victurnien  speak  of  sordid  details 
after  that?  He  could  so  much  the  better  hide  his 
schemes,  because  Diane  was  particularly  careful  not  to  in- 
quire into  them.  She  was  now,  and  always,  as  de  Marsay 
said,  an  invited  guest  at  a  banquet  wreathed  with  roses,  a 
banquet  which  mankind,  as  in  duty  bound,  made  ready  for 
her. 

Victurnien  would  not  go  till  the  promise  had  been  sealed. 
He  must  draw  courage  from  his  happiness  before  he  could 
bring  himself  to  do  a  deed  on  which,  as  he  inwardly  told 
himself,  people  would  be  certain  to  put  a  bad  construction. 
Still  (and  this  was  the  thought  that  decided  him)  he  counted 
on  his  aunt  and  father  to  hush  up  the  affair ;  he  even  counted 
on  Chesnel.  Chesnel  would  think  of  one  more  compromise. 
Besides,  "this  business,"  as  he  called  it  in  his  thoughts,  was 
the  only  way  of  raising  money  on  the  family  estate.  With 
three  hundred  thousand  francs,  he  and  Diane  would  lead  a 
happy  life  hidden  in  some  palace  in  Venice ;  and  there  they 
would  forget  the  world.  They  went  through  their  romance 
in  advance. 


234  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Next  day  Victurnien  made  out  a  bill  for  three  hundred 
thousand  francs,  and  took » it  to  the  Kellers.  The  Kellers 
advanced  the  money,  for  du  Croisier  happened  to  have  a 
balance  at  the  time;  but  they  wrote  to  let  him  know  that  he 
must  not  draw  again  on  them  without  giving  them  notice. 
Du  Croisier,  much  astonished,  asked  for  a  statement  of  ac- 
counts. It  was  sent.  Everything  was  explained.  The  day 
of  his  vengeance  had  arrived. 

When  Victurnien  had  drawn  "his"  money,  he  took  it  to 
Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse.  She  locked  up  the  banknotes  in 
her  desk,  and  proposed  to  bid  the -world  farewell  by  going  to 
the  Opera  to  see  it  for  the  last  time.  Victurnien  was 
thoughtful,  absent,  and  uneasy.  He  was  beginning  to  reflect. 
He  thought  that  his  seat  in  the  Duchess'  box  might  cost  him 
dear ;  that  perhaps,  when  he  had  put  the  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  in  safety,  it  would  be  better  to  travel  post,  to 
fall  at  Chesnel's  feet,  and  tell  him  all.  But  before  they  left 
the  opera-house,  the  Duchess,  in  spite  of  herself,  gave  Vic- 
turnien an  adorable  glance,  her  eyes  were  shining  with  the 
desire  to  go  back  once  more  to  bid  farewell  to  the  nest  which 
she  loved  so  much.  And  boy  that  he  was,  he  lost  a 
night. 

The  next  day,  at  three  o'clock,  he  was  back  again  at  the 
Hotel  de  Maufrigneuse;  he  had  come  to  take  the  Duchess' 
orders  for  that  night's  escape.  And,  "Why  should  we  go?" 
asked  she;  "I  have  thought  it  all  out.  The  Vicomtesse  de 
Beauseant  and  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  disappeared.  If  I 
go  too,  it  will  be  something  quite  commonplace.  We  will 
brave  the  storm.  It  will  be  a  far  finer  thing  to  do.  I  am 
sure  of  success."  Victurnien's  eyes  dazzled ;  he  felt  as  if  his 
skin  were  dissolving  and  the  blood  oozing  out  all  over  him. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  cried  the  fair  Diane,  notic- 
ing a  hesitation  which  a  woman  never  forgives.  Your  truly 
adroit  lover  will  hasten  to  agree  with  any  fancy  that  Woman 
may  take  into  her  head,  and  suggest  reasons  for  doing  other- 
wise, while  leaving  her  free  exercise  of  her  right  to  change 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  235 

her  mind,  her  intentions,  and  sentiments  generally  as  often  as 
she  pleases.  Victurnien  was  angry  for  the  first  time,  angry 
with  the  wrath  of  a  weak  man  of  poetic  temperament ;  it  was 
a  storm  of  rain  and  lightning  flashes,  but  no  thunder  fol- 
lowed. The  angel  on  whose  faith  be  had  risked  more  than 
his  life,  the  honor  of  his  house,  was  very  roughly  handled. 

"So,"  said  she,  "we  have  come  to  this  after  eighteen 
months  of  tenderness!  You  are  unkind,  very  unkind.  Go 
away ! — I  do  not  want  to  see  you  again.  I  thought  that  you 
loved  me.  You  do  not." 

"I  do  not  love  you  ?"  repeated  he,  thunderstruck  by  the  re- 
proach. 

"No,  monsieur." 

"And  yet "  he  cried.  "Ah!  if  you  but  knew  what  I 

have  just  done  for  your  sake !" 

"And  how  have  you  done  so  much  for  me,  monsieur?  As 
if  a  man  ought  not  to  do  anything  for  a  woman  that  has  done 
so  much  for  him." 

"You  are  not  worthy  to  know  it !"  Victurnien  cried  in  a 
passion  of  anger. 

"Oh !" 

After  that  sublime  "Oh!"  Diane  bowed  her  head  on  her 
hand  and  sat,  still,  cold,  and  implacable  as  angels  naturally 
may  be  expected  to  do,  seeing  that  they  share  none  of  the 
passions  of  humanity.  At  the  sight  of  the  woman  he  loved 
in  this  terrible  attitude,  Victurnien  forgot  his  danger.  Had 
he  not  just  that  moment  wronged  the  most  angelic  creature 
on  earth?  He  longed  for  forgiveness,  he  threw  himself  be- 
fore her,  be  kissed  her  feet,  he  pleaded,  he  wept.  Two  whole 
hours  the  unhappy  young  man  spent  in  all  kinds  of  follies, 
only  to  meet  the  same  cold  face,  while  the  great  silent  tears 
dropping  one  by  one,  were  dried  as  soon  as  they  fell  lest  the 
unworthy  lover  should  try  to  wipe  them  away.  The  Duchess 
was  acting  a  great  agony,  one  of  those  hours  which  stamp 
the  woman  who  passes  through  them  as  something  august  and 
sacred. 

Two  more  hours  went  by.     By  this  time  the  Count  had 


236  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

gained  possession  of  Diane's  hand;  it  felt  cold  and  spiritless. 
The  beautiful  hand,  with  all  the  treasures  in  its  grasp,  might 
have  been  supple  wood;  there  was  nothing  of  Diane  in  it; 
he  had  taken  it,  it  had  not  been  given  to  him.  As  for  Vic- 
turnien,  the  spirit  had  ebbed  out  of  his  frame,  he  had  ceased 
to  think.  He  would  not  have  seen  the  sun  in  heaven.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  What  course  should  he  take  ?  What  resolu- 
tion should  he  make?  The  man  who  can  keep  his  head  in 
such  circumstances  must  be  made  of  the  same  stuff  as  the 
convict  who  spent  the  night  in  robbing  the  Bibliotheque  Eoyale 
of  its  gold  medals,  and  repaired  to  his  honest  brother  in  the 
morning  with  a  request  to  melt  down  the  plunder.  "What  is 
to  be  done?"  cried  the  brother.  ''Make  me  some  coffee," 
replied  the  thief.  Victurnien  sank  into  a  bewildered  stupor, 
darkness  settled  down  over  his  brain.  Visions  of  past 
rapture  flitted  across  the  misty  gloom  like  the  figures  that 
Eaphael  painted  against  a  black  background;  to  these  he 
must  bid  farewell.  Inexorable  and  disdainful,  the  Duchess 
played  with  the  tip  of  her  scarf.  She  looked  in  irritation 
at  Vieturnien  from  time  to  time;  she  coquetted  with  memo- 
ries, she  spoke  to  her  lover  of  his  rivals  as  if  anger  had  finally 
decided  her  to  prefer  one  of  them  to  a  man  who  could  so 
change  in  one  moment  after  twenty-eight  months  of  love. 

"Ah !  that  charming  young  Felix  de  Vandenesse,  so  faith- 
ful as  he  was  to  Mme.  de  Mortsauf,  would  never  have  per- 
mitted himself  such  a  scene !  He  can  love,  can  de 
Vandenesse !  De  Marsay,  that  terrible  de  Marsay,  such  a  tiger 
as  every  one  thought  him,  was  rough  with  other  men;  but, 
like  all  strong  men,  he  kept  his  gentleness  for  women. 
Montriveau  trampled  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  under  foot,  as 
Othello  killed  Desdemona,  in  a  burst  of  fury  which  at  any 
rate  proved  the  extravagance  of  his  love.  It  was  not  like  a 
paltry  squabble.  There  was  rapture  in  being  so  crushed. 
Little,  fair-haired,  slim,  and  slender  men  loved  to  torment 
women;  they  could  only  reign  over  poor,  weak  creatures;  it 
pleased  them  to  have  some  ground  for  believing  that  they 
were  men.  The  tyranny  of  love  was  their  one  chance  of  as- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  237 

serting  their  power.  She  did  not  know  why  she  had  put  herself 
at  the  mercy  of  fair  hair.  Such  men  as  de  Marsay, 
Montriveau,  and  Vandenesse,  dark-haired  and  well  grown, 
had  a  ray  of  sunlight  in  their  eyes.'7 

It  was  a  storm  of  epigrams.  Her  speeches,  like  bullets, 
came  hissing  past  his  ears.  Every  word  that  Diane  hurled  at 
him  was  triple-barbed;  she  humiliated,  stung,  and  wounded 
him  with  an  art  that  was  all  her  own,  as  half  a  score 
of  savages  can  torture  an  enemy  bound  to  a  stake. 

"You  are  mad !"  he  cried  at  last,  at  the  end  of  his  patience, 
and  out  he  went  in  God  knows  what  mood.  He  drove  as  if  he 
had  never  handled  the  reins  before,  locked  his  wheels  in  the 
wheels  of  other  vehicles,  collided  with  the  curbstone  in  the 
Place  Louis-  Quinze,  went  he  knew  not  whither.  The  horse, 
left  to  its  own  devices,  made  a  bolt  for  the  stable  along  the 
Quai  d'Orsay ;  but  as  he  turned  into  the  Eue  de  1'Universite, 
Josephin  appeared  to  stop  the  runaway. 

"You  cannot  go  home,  sir,"  the  old  man  said,  with  a  scared 
face;  "they  have  come  with  a  warrant  to  arrest  you." 

Victurnien  thought  that  he  had  been  arrested  on  the 
criminal  charge,  albeit  there  had  not  been  time  for  the 
public  prosecutor  to  receive  his  instructions.  He  had  for- 
gotten the  matter  of  the  bills  of  exchange,  which  had  been 
stirred  up  again  for  some  days  past  in  the  form  of  orders  to 
pay,  brought  by  the  officers  of  the  court  with  accompaniments 
in  the  shape  of  bailiffs,  men  in  possession,  magistrates,  com- 
missaries, policemen,  and  other  representatives  of  social  order. 
Like  most  guilty  creatures,  Victurnien  had  forgotten  every- 
thing but  his  crime. 

"It  is  all  over  with  me,"  he  cried. 

"No,  M.  le  Comte,  drive  as  fast  as  you  can  to  the  Hotel 
du  Bon  la  Fontaine,  in  the  Eue  de  Grenelle.  Mile.  Armande 
is  waiting  there  for  you,  the  horses  have  been  put  in,  she  will 
take  you  with  her." 

Victurnien,  in  his  trouble,  caught  like  a  drowning  man  at 
the  branch  that  came  to  his  hand;  he  rushed  off  to  the  inn, 
reached  the  place,  and  flung  his  arms  about  his  aunt.  Mile, 


238  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Armande  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break;  any  one  might 
have  thought  that  she  had  a  share  in  her  nephew's  guilt. 
They  stepped  into  the  carriage.  A  few  minutes  later  they 
were  on  the  road  to  Brest,  and  Paris  lay  behind  them.  Vic- 
turnien  uttered  not  a  sound;  he  was  paralyzed.  And  when 
aunt  and  nephew  began  to  speak,  they  talked  at  cross  pur- 
poses; Victurnien,  still  laboring  under  the  unlucky  Misap- 
prehension which  flung  him  into  Mile.  Armande's  arms,  was 
thinking  of  his  forgery ;  his  aunt  had  the  debts  and  the  bills 
on  her  mind. 

"Yon  know  all,  aunt,"  he  had  said. 

"Poor  boy,  yes,  but  we  are  here.  I  am  not  going  to  scold 
you  just  yet.  Take  heart." 

"I  must  hide  somewhere." 

"Perhaps.     .     .     .     Yes,  it  is  a  very  good  idea." 

"Perhaps  I  might  get  into  ChesnePs  house  without  being 
seen  if  we  timed  ourselves  to  arrive  in  the  middle  of  the 
night?" 

"That  will  be  best.  We  shall  be  better  able  to  hide  this 
from  my  brother. — Poor  angel !  how  unhappy  he  is !"  said 
she,  petting  the  unworthy  child. 

"Ah!  now  I  begin  to  know  what  dishonor  means;  it  has 
chilled  my  love." 

"Unhappy  boy ;  what  bliss  and  what  misery !"  And  Mile. 
Armande  drew  his  fevered  face  to  her  breast  and  kissed  his 
forehead,  cold  and  damp  though  it  was,  'as  the  holy  women 
might  have  kissed  the  brow  of  the  dead  Christ  when  they  laid 
Him  in  His  grave  clothes.  Following  out  the  excellent 
scheme  suggested  by  the  prodigal  son,  he  was  brought  by 
night  to  the  quiet  house  in  the  Eue  du  Bercail;  but  chance 
ordered  it  that  by  so  doing  he  ran  straight  into  the  wolf's 
jaws,  as  the  saying  goes.  That  evening  Chesnel  had  been 
making  arrangements  to  sell  his  connection  to  M.  Lepres- 
soir's  head-clerk.  M.  Lepressoir  was  the  notary  employed  by 
the  Liberals,  just  as  Chesnel's  practice  lay  among  the  aristo- 
cratic families.  The  young  fellow's  relatives  were  rich 
enough  to  pay  Chesnel  the  considerable  sum  of  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  in  cash. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  239 

Chesnel  was  rubbing  his  hands.  "A  hundred  thousand 
francs  will  go  a  long  way  in  buying  up  debts,"  he  thought. 
"The  young  man  is  paying  a  high  rate  of  interest  on  his 
loans.  We  will  lock  him  up  down  here.  I  will  go  yonder 
myself  and  bring  those  curs  to  terms." 

Chesnel,  honest  Chesnel,  upright,  worthy  Chesnel,  called 
his  darling  Comte  Victurnien's  creditors  "curs." 

Meanwhile  his  successor  was  making  his  way  along  the  Rue 
du  Bercail  just  as  Mile.  Armande's  traveling  carriage  turned 
into  it.  Any  young  man  might  be  expected  to  feel  some 
curiosity  if  he  saw  a  traveling  carriage  stop  at  a  notary's  door 
in  such  a  town  and  at  such  an  hour  of  the  night ;  the  young 
man  in  question  was  sufficiently  inquisitive  to  stand  in  a 
doorway  and  watch.  He  saw  Mile.  Armande  alight. 

"Mile.  Armande  d'Esgrignon  at  this  time  of  night !"  said 
he  to  himself.  "What  can  be  going  forward  at  the  d'Esgri- 
gnons'  ?" 

At  the  sight  of  mademoiselle,  Chesnel  opened  the  door 
circumspectly  and  set  down  the  light  which  he  was  carrying; 
but  when  he  looked  out  and  saw  Victurnien,  Mile.  Armande's 
first  whispered  word  made  the  whole  thing  plain  to  him.  He 
looked  up  and  down  the  street;  it  seemed  quite  deserted;  he 
beckoned,  and  the  young  Count  sprang  out  of  the  carriage 
and  entered  the  courtyard.  All  was  lost.  Chesnel's  suc- 
cessor had  discovered  Victurnien's  hiding-place. 

Victurnien  was  hurried  into  the  bouse  and  installed  in  a 
room  beyond  Chesnel's  private  office.  No  one  could  enter  it 
except  across  the  old  man's  dead  body. 

"Ah !  M.  le  Comte !"  exclaimed  Chesnel,  notary  no  longer. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  the  Count  answered,  understanding  his 
old  friend's  exclamation.  "I  did  not  listen  to  you ;  and  now 
I  have  fallen  into  the  depths,  and  I  must  perish." 

"No,  no,"  the  good  man  answered,  looking  triumphantly 
from  Mile.  Armande  to  the  Count.  "I  have  sold  my  connec- 
tion. I  have  been  working  for  a  very  long  time  now,  and  am 
thinking  of  retiring.  By  noon  to-morrow  I  shall  have  a 
hundred  thousand  francs;  many  things  can  be  settled  with 

VOL.  7—38 


240  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

that.  Mademoiselle,  you  are  tired/'  he  added;  "go  back  to 
the  carriage  and  go  home  and  sleep.  Business  to-mor- 
row/' 

"Is  he  safe  ?"  returned  she,  looking  at  Victurnien. 

"Yes." 

She  kissed  her  nephew;  a  few  tears  fell  on  his  forehead. 
Then  she  went. 

"My  good  Chesnel,"  said  the  Count,  when  they  began  to 
talk  of  business,  "what  are  your  hundred  thousand  francs  in 
such  a  position  as  mine  ?  You  do  not  know  the  full  extent  of 
my  troubles,  I  think." 

Victurnien  explained  the  situation.  Chesnel  was  thunder- 
struck. But  for  the  strength  of  his  devotion,  he  would  have 
succumbed  to  this  blow.  Tears  streamed  from  the  eyes  that 
might  well  have  had  no  tears  left  to  shed.  For  a  few 
moments  he  was  a  child  again,  for  a  few  moments  he  was 
bereft  of  his  senses ;  he  stood  like  a  man  who  should  find  his 
own  house  on  fire,  and  through  a  window  see  the  cradle  ablaze 
and  hear  the  hiss  of  the  flames  on  his  children's  curls.  He 
rose  to  his  full  height — il  se  dressa  en  pied.,  as  Amyot  would 
have  said;  he  seemed  to  grow  taller;  he  raised  his  withered 
hands  and  wrung  them  despairingly  and  wildly. 

"If  only  your  father  may  die  and  never  know  this,  young 
man!  To  be  a  forger  is  enough;  a  parricide  you  must  not 
be.  Fly,  you  say?  No.  They  would  condemn  you  for  con- 
tempt of  court!  Oh,  wretched  boy!  Why  did  you  not 
forge  my  signature  ?  /  would  have  paid ;  I  should  not  have 
taken  the  bill  to  the  public  prosecutor. — Now  I  can  do  noth- 
ing. You  have  brought  me  to  a  stand  in  the  lowest  pit  in 

hell ! Du  Croisier !  What  will  come  of  it  ?  What  is  to  be 

done  ? — If  you  had  killed  a  man,  there  might  be  some  help  for 
it.  But  forgery — forgery!  And  time — the  time  is  flying," 
he  went  on,  shaking  his  fist  towards  the  old  clock.  "You 
will  want  a  sham  passport  now.  One  crime  leads  to  another. 
First,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "first  of  all  we  must  save 
the  house  of  d'Esgrignon." 

"But  the  money  is  still  in  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse's  keep- 
ing," exclaimed  Victurnien. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  241 

"Ah !"  exclaimed  Chesnel.  "Well,  there  is  some  hope  left 
^— a  faint  hope.  Could  we  soften  du  Croisier,  I  wonder,  or  buy 
him  over?  He  shall  have  all  the  lands  if  he  likes.  I  will 
go  to  him;  I  will  wake  him  and  offer  him  all  we  have. — Be- 
sides, it  was  not  you  who  forged  that  bill;  it  was  I.  I  will 
go  to  jail ;  I  am  too  old  for  the  hulks,  they  can  only  put  me 
in  prison." 

"But  the  body  of  the  bill  is  in  my  handwriting,"  objected 
Victurnien,  without  a  sign  of  surprise  at  this  reckless 
devotion. 

"Idiot !  .  .  .  that  is,  pardon,  M.  le  Comte.  Josephin 
should  have  been  made  to  write  it,"  the  old  notary  cried 
wrathfully.  "He  is  a  good  creature;  he  would  have  taken  it 
all  on  his  shoulders.  But  there  is  an  end  of  it;  the  world  is 
falling  to  pieces,"  the  old  man  continued,  sinking  exhausted 
into  a  chair.  "Du  Croisier  is  a  tiger ;  we  must  be  careful  not 
to  rouse  him.  What  time  is  it  ?  Where  is  the  draft  ?  If  it 
is  at  Paris,  it  might  be  bought  back  from  the  Kellers;  they 
might  accommodate  us.  Ah !  but  there  are  dangers  on  all 
sides;  a  single  false  step  means  ruin.  Money  is  wanted  in 
any  case.  But,  there !  nobody  knows  you  are  here,  you  must 
live  buried  away  in  the  cellar  if  needs  must.  I  will  go  at 
once  to  Paris  as  fast  as  I  can;  I  can  hear  the  mail  coach 
from  Brest." 

In  a  moment  the  old  man  recovered  the  faculties  of  his 
youth — his  agility  and  vigor.  He  packed  up  clothes  for  the 
journey,  took  money,  brought  a  six-pound  loaf  to  the  little 
room  beyond  the  office,  and  turned  the  key  on  his  child  by 
adoption. 

"Not  a  sound  in  here,"  he  said,  "no  light  at  night;  and 
stop  here  till  I  come  back,  or  you  will  go  to  the  hulks.  Do 
you  understand,  M.  le  Comte?  Yes,  to  the  hulks!  if  any- 
body in  a  town  like  this  knows  that  you  are  here." 

With  that  Chesnel  went  out,  first  telling  his  housekeeper 
to  give  out  that  he  was  ill,  to  allow  no  one  to  come  into  the 
house,  to  send  everybody  away,  and  to  postpone  business  of 
every  kind  for  three  days.  He  wheedled  the  manager  of 


242 

the  coach-office,  made  up  a  tale  for  his  benefit — he  had  the 
makings  of  an  ingenious  novelist  in  him — and  obtained  a 
promise  that  if  there  should  be  a  place,  he  should  have  it,  pass- 
port or  no  passport,  as  well  as  a  further  promise  to  keep  the 
hurried  departure  a  secret.  Luckily,  the  coach  was  empty 
when  it  arrived. 

In  the  middle  of  the  following  night  Chesnel  was  set  down 
in  Paris.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  waited  on  the 
Kellers,  and  learned  that  the  fatal  draft  had  returned  to  du 
Croisier  three  days  since;  but  while  obtaining  this  informa- 
tion, he  in  no  way  committed  himself.  Before  he  went  away 
he  inquired  whether  the  draft  could  be  recovered  if  the 
amount  were  refunded.  Frangois  Keller's  answer  was  to  the 
effect  that  the  document  was  du  Croisier 's  property,  and  that 
it  was  entirely  in  his  power  to  keep  or  return  it.  Then,  in 
desperation,  the  old  man  went  to  the  Duchess. 

Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse  was  not  at  home  to  any  visitor  at 
that  hour.  Chesnel,  feeling  that  every  moment  was  precious, 
sat  down  in  the  hall,  wrote  a  few  lines,  and  succeeded  in 
sending  them  to  the  lady  by  dint  of  wheedling,  fascinating, 
bribing,  and  commanding  the  most  insolent  and  inaccessible 
servants  in  the  world.  The  Duchess  was  still  in  bed ;  but,  to 
the  great  astonishment  of  her  household,  the  old  man  in 
black  knee-breeches,  ribbed  stockings,  and  shoes  with  buckles 
to  them,  was  shown  into  her  room. 

"What  is  it,  monsieur?"  she  asked,  posing  in  her  dis- 
order. "What  does  he  want  of  me,  ungrateful  that  he  is?" 

"It  is  this,  Mme.  la  Duchesse,"  the  good  man  exclaimed, 
"you  have  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  belonging  to  us." 

"Yes,"  began  she.     "What  does  it  signify ?" 

"The  money  was  gained  by  a  forgery,  for  which  we  are 
going  to  the  hulks,  a  forgery  which  we  committed  for 
love  of  you,"  Chesnel  said  quickly.  "How  is  it  that  you  did 
not  guess  it,  so  clever  as  you  are?  Instead  of  scolding  the 
boy,  you  ought  to  have  had  the  truth  out  of  him,  and  stopped 
him  while  there  was  time,  and  saved  him." 

At  the  first  words  the  Duchess  understood ;  she  felt  ashamed 


1  What  is  it,  mousieur  ?  "  she  asked,  posing  in  her  disorder 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  243 

of  her  behavior  to  so  impassioned  a  lover,  and  afraid  besides 
that  she  might  be  suspected  of  complicity.  In  her  wish  to 
prove  that  she  had  not  touched  the  money  left  in  her  keeping, 
she  lost  all  regard  for  appearances;  and  besides,  it  did  not 
occur  to  her  that  a  notary  was  a  man.  She  flung  off  the 
eider-down  quilt,  sprang  to  her  desk  (flitting  past  the  lawyer 
like  an  angel  out  of  one  the  vignettes  which  illustrate  Lamar- 
tine's  books),  held  out  the  notes,  and  went  back  in  confusion 
to  bed. 

"You  are  an  angel,  madame."  (She  was  to  be  an  angel  for 
all  the  world,  it  seemed.)  "But  this  will  not  be  the  end  of  it. 
I  count  upon  your  influence  to  save  us." 

"To  save  you !  I  will  do  it  or  die !  Love  that  will  not 
shrink  from  a  crime  must  be  love  indeed.  Is  there  a  woman  in 
the  world  for  whom  such  a  thing  has  been  done  ?  Poor  boy ! 
Come,  do  not  lose  time,  dear  M.  Chesnel ;  and  count  upon  me 
as  upon  yourself." 

"Mme.  la  Duchesse !  Mme.  la  Duchesse !"  It  was  all  that 
he  could  say,  so  overcome  was  he.  He  cried,  he  could  have 
danced;  but  he  was  afaid  of  losing  his  senses,  and  re- 
frained. 

"Between  us,  we  will  save  him,"  she  said,  as  he  left 
the  room. 

Chesnel  went  straight  to  Josephin.  Josephin  unlocked  the 
young  Count's  desk  and  writing-table.  Very  luckily,  the  notary 
found  letters  which  might  be  useful,  letters  from  du  Croisier 
and  the  Kellers.  Then  he  took  a  place  in  a  diligence  which 
was  just  about  to  start ;  and  by  dint  of  fees  to  the  postilions, 
the  lumbering  vehicle  went  as  quickly  as  the  coach.  His  two 
fellow-passengers  on  the  journey  happened  to  be  in  as  great  a 
hurry  as  himself,  and  readily  agreed  to  take  their  meals 
in  the  carriage.  Thus  swept  over  the  road,  the  notary 
reached  the  Rue  du  BercaiL,  after  three  days  of  absence,  an 
hour  before  midnight.  And  yet  he  was  too  late.  He  saw 
the  gendarmes  at  the  gate,  crossed  the  threshold,  and  met  the 
young  Count  in  the  courtyard.  Victurnien  had  been  ar- 
rested. If  Chesnel  had  had  the  power,  he  would  beyond  a 


244  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

doubt  have  killed  the  officers  and  men ;  as  it  was,  he  could  only 
fall  on  Victurnien's  neck. 

"If  I  cannot  hush  this  matter  up,  you  must  kill  yourself 
before  the  indictment  is  made  out,"  he  whispered.  But  Vic- 
turnien  had  sunk  into  such  stupor,  that  he  stared  back  un- 
comprehendingly. 

"Kill  myself  ?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes.  If  your  courage  should  fail,  my  boy,  count  upon 
me,"  said  Chesnel,  squeezing  Victurnien's  hand. 

In  spite  of  his  anguish  of  mind  and  tottering  limbs,  he 
stood  firmly  planted,  to  watch  the  son  of  his  heart,  the  Comte 
d'Esgrignon,  go  out  of  the  courtyard  between  two  gendarmes, 
with  the  commissary,  the  justice  of  the  peace,  and  the  clerk 
K)f  the  court ;  and  not  until  the  figures  had  disappeared,  and 
>he  sound  of  footsteps  had  died  away  into  silence,  did  he  re- 
cover his  firmness  and  presence  of  mind. 

"You  will  catch  cold,  sir,"  Brigitte  remonstrated. 

"The  devil  take  you !"  cried  her  exasperated  master. 

Never  in  the  nine-and-twenty  years  that  Brigitte  had  been 
in  his  service  had  she  heard  such  words  from  him !  Her 
candle  fell  out  of  her  hands,  but  Chesnel  neither  heeded  his 
housekeeper's  alarm  nor  heard  her  exclaim.  He  hurried  off 
towards  the  Val-Noble. 

"He  is  out  of  his  mind,"  said  she ;  "after  all,  it  is  no  won- 
der. But  where  is  he  off  to?  I  cannot  possibly  go  after 
him.  What  will  become  of  him?  Suppose  that  he  should 
drown  himself?" 

And  Brigitte  went  to  waken  the  head-clerk  and  send  him  to 
look  along  the  river  bank ;  the  river  had  a  gloomy  reputation 
just  then,  for  there  had  lately  been  two  cases  of  suicide 
— one  a  young  man  full  of  promise,  and  the  other  a  girl,  a 
victim  of  seduction.  Chesnel  went  straight  to  the  Hotel  du 
Croisier.  There  lay  his  only  hope.  The  law  requires  that 
a  charge  of  forgery  must  be  brought  by  a  private  individual. 
It  was  still  possible  to  withdraw  if  du  Croisier  chose  to  admit 
that  there  had  been  a  misapprehension;  and  Chesnel  had 
hopes,  even  then,  of  buying  the  man  over. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  245 

M.  and  Mme.  du  Croisier  had  much  more  company  than 
usual  that  evening.  Only  a  few  persons  were  in  the  secret. 
M.  du  Ronceret,  president  of  the  Tribunal;  M.  Sauvager, 
deputy  Public  Prosecutor ;  and  M.  du  Coudrai,  a  registrar  of 
mortgages,  who  had  lost  his  post  by  voting  on  the  wrong 
side,  were  the  only  persons  who  were  supposed  to  know  about 
it;  but  Mesdames  du  Eonceret  and  du  Coudrai  had  told  the 
news,  in  strict  confidence,  to  one  or  two  intimate  friends,  so 
that  it  had  spread  half  over  the  semi-noble,  semi-bourgeois 
assembly  at  M.  du  Croisier's.  Everybody  felt  the  gravity  of 
the  situation,  but  no  one  ventured  to  speak  of  it  openly ;  and, 
moreover,  Mme.  du  Croisier's  attachment  to  the  upper  sphere 
was  so  well  known,  that  people  scarcely  dared  to  mention  the 
disaster  which  had  befallen  the  d'Esgrignons  or  to  ask  for 
particulars.  The  persons  most  interested  were  waiting  till 
good  Mme.  du  Croisier  retired,  for  that  lady  always  re- 
treated to  her  room  at  the  same  hour  to  perform  her  religious 
exercises  as  far  as  possible  out  of  her  husband's  sight. 

Du  Croisier's  adherents,  knowing  the  secret  and  the  plans 
of  the  great  commercial  power,  looked  round  when  the  lady  of 
the  house  disappeared;  but  there  were  still  several  persons 
present  whose  opinions  or  interests  marked  them  out  as  un- 
trustworthy, so  they  continued  to  play.  About  half  past 
eleven  all  had  gone  save  intimates :  M.  Sauvager,  M.  Camusot, 
the  examining  magistrate,  and  his  wife,  M.  and  Mme.  du  Ron- 
ceret  and  their  son  Fabien,  M.  and  Mme.  du  Coudrai,  and 
Joseph  Blondet,  the  eldest  son  of  an  old  judge ;  ten  persons  in 
all. 

It  is  told  of  Talleyrand  that  one  fatal  day,  three  hours 
after  midnight,  he  suddenly  interrupted  a  game  of  cards  in 
the  Duchesse  de  Luynes'  house  by  laying  down  his  watch  on 
the  table  and  asking  the  players  whether  the  Prince  de  Conde 
had  any  child  but  the  Due  d  Enghien. 

"Why  do  you  ask  ?"  returned  Mme.  de  Luynes,  "when  you 
know  so  well  that  he  has  not." 

"Because  if  the  Prince  has  no  other  son,  the  House  of 
Conde  is  now  at  an  end." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  they  finished  the  game. 


246  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

— President  du  Konceret  now  did  something  very  similar. 
Perhaps  he  had  heard  the  anecdote ;  perhaps,  in  political  life, 
little  minds  and  great  minds  are  apt  to  hit  upon  the  same 
expression.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  interrupted  the 
game  of  boston  with : 

"At  this  moment  M.  le  Comte  d'Esgrignon  is  arrested,  and 
that  house  which  has  held  its  head  so  high  is  dishonored  for- 
ever." 

"Then,  have  you  got  hold  of  the  boy?"  du  Coudrai  cried 
gleefully. 

Every  one  in  the  room,  with  the  exception  of  the  President, 
the  deputy,  and  du  Croisier,  looked  startled. 

"He  has  just  been  arrested  in  ChesnePs  house,  where  he 
was  hiding,"  said  the  deputy  public  prosecutor,  with  the  air 
of  a  capable  but  unappreciated  public  servant,  who  ought  by 
rights  to  be  Minister  of  Police.  M.  Sauvager,  the  deputy, 
was  a  thin,  tall  young  man  of  five-and-twenty,  with  a  lengthy 
olive-hued  countenance,  black  frizzled  hair,  and  deep-set  eyes ; 
the  wide,  dark  rings  beneath  them  were  completed  by  the 
wrinkled  purple  eyelids  above.  With  a  nose  like  the  beak  of 
some  bird  of  prey,  a  pinched  mouth,  and  cheeks  worn  lean 
with  study  and  hollowed  by  ambition,  he  was  the  very  type 
of  a  second-rate  personage  on  the  lookout  for  something  to 
turn  up,  and  ready  to  do  anything  if  so  he  might  get  on  in  the 
world,  while  keeping  within  the  limitations  of  the  possible 
and  the  forms  of  law.  His  pompous  expression  was  an  ad- 
mirable indication  of  the  time-serving  eloquence  to  be  ex- 
pected of  him.  Chesnel's  successor  had  discovered  the  young 
Count's  hiding  place  to  him,  and  he  took  great  credit  to  him- 
self for  his  penetration. 

The  news  seemed  to  come  as  a  shock  to  the  examining 
magistrate,  M.  Camusot,  who  had  granted  the  warrant  of  ar- 
rest on  Sauvager's  application,  with  no  idea  that  it  was  to  be 
executed  so  promptly.  Camusot  was  short,  fair,  and  fat  al- 
ready, though  he  was  only  thirty  years  old  or  thereabouts; 
he  had  the  flabby,  livid  look  peculiar  to  officials  who 
live  shut  up  in  their  private  study  or  in  a  court  of  justice; 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  247 

and  his  little,  pale,  yellow  eyes  were  full  of  the  suspicion 
which  is  often  mistaken  for  shrewdness. 

Mme.  Camusot  looked  at  her  spouse,  as  who  should  say, 
"Was  I  not  right?" 

"Then  the  case  will  come  on/'  was  Camusot's  comment. 

"Could  you  doubt  it?"  asked  du  Coudrai.  "Now  they 
have  got  the  Count,  all  is  over." 

"There  is  the  jury/'  said  Camusot.  "In  this  case  M.  le 
Prefet  is  sure  to  take  care  that  after  the  challenges  from 
the  prosecution  and  the  defence,  the  jury  to  a  man  will  be  for 
an  acquittal. — My  advice  would  be  to  come  to  a  compromise," 
he  added,  turning  to  du  Croisier. 

"Compromise!"  echoed  the  President;  "why,  he  is  in  the 
hands  of  justice." 

"Acquitted  or  convicted,  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon  will  be 
dishonored  all  the  same,"  put  in  Sauvager. 

"I  am  bringing  an  action,"*  said  du  Croisier.  "I  shall 
have  Dupin  senior.  We  shall  see  how  the  d'Esgrignon  family 
will  escape  out  of  his  clutches." 

"The  d'Esgrignons  will  defend  the  case  and  have  counsel 
from  Paris;  they  will  have  Berryer,"  said  Mme.  Camusot. 
"You  will  have  a  Eoland  for  your  Oliver." 

Du  Croisier,  M.  Sauvager,  and  the  President  du  Konceret 
looked  at  Camusot,  and  one  thought  troubled  their  minds. 
The  lady's  tone,  the  way  in  which  she  flung  her  proverb  in 
the  faces  of  the  eight  conspirators  against  the  house  of 
d'Esgrignon,  caused  them  inward  perturbation,  which  they 
dissembled  as  provincials  can  dissemble,  by  dint  of  lifelong 
practice  in  the  shifts  of  a  monastic  existence.  Little  Mme. 
Camusot  saw  their  change  of  countenance  and  subsequent 
composure  when  they  scented  opposition  on  the  part  of  the 
examining  magistrate.  When  her  husband  unveiled  the 
thoughts  in  the  back  of  his  own  mind,  she  had  tried  to  plumb 
the  depths  of  hate  in  du  Croisier's  adherents.  She  wanted 
to  find  out  how  du  Croisier  had  gained  over  this  deputy  public 

*  A  trial  for  an  offence  of  this  kind  in  France  is  an  action  brought  by  a  private 
person  (partie  civile)  to  recover  damages,  and  at  the  same  time  a  criminal  prosecu- 
tton  conducted  on  behalf  of  the  Government.— TB. 


248  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

prosecutor,  who  had  acted  so  promptly  and  so  directly  in 
opposition  to  the  views  of  the  central  power. 

"In  any  case,"  continued  she,  "if  celebrated  counsel  come 
down  from  Paris,  there  is  a  prospect  of  a  very  interesting 
session  in  the  Court  of  Assize ;  but  the  matter  will  be  snuffed 
out  between  the  Tribunal  and  the  Court  of  Appeal.  It  is 
only  to  be  expected  that  the  Government  should  do  all  that 
can  be  done,  below  the  surface,  to  save  a  young  man  who 
comes  of  a  great  family,  and  has  the  Duchesse  de  Maufri- 
gneuse  for  friend.  So  I  think  that  we  shall  have  a  'sen- 
sation at  Landernau.' '' 

"How  you  go  on,  madame !"  the  President  said  sternly. 
"Can  you  suppose  that  the  Court  of  First  Instance  will  be 
influenced  by  considerations  which  have  nothing  to  do  with 
justice?" 

"The  event  proves  the  contrary,"  she  said  meaningly,  look- 
ing full  at  Sauvager  and  the  President,  who  glanced  coldly  at 
her. 

"Explain  yourself,  madame,"  said  Sauvager.  "You  speak 
as  if  we  had  not  done  our  duty." 

"Mme.  Camusot  meant  nothing,"  interposed  her  husband. 

"But  has  not  M.  le  President  just  said  something  prejudic- 
ing a  case  which  depends  on  the  examination  of  the  prisoner  ?" 
said  she.  "And  the  evidence  is  still  to  be  taken,  and  the 
Court  has  not  given  its  decision  ?" 

"We  are  not  at  the  law-courts,"  the  deputy  public  prosecu- 
tor replied  tartly ;  "and  besides,  we  know  all  that." 

"But  the  public  prosecutor  knows  nothing  at  all  about  it 
yet,"  returned  she,  with  an  ironical  glance.  "He  will  come 
back  from  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  in  all  haste.  You  have 
cut  out  his  work  for  him,  and  he,  no  doubt,  will  speak  for  him- 
self." 

The  deputy  prosecutor  knitted  his  thick  bushy  brows. 
Those  interested  read  tardy  scruples  in  his  countenance.  A 
great  silence  followed,  broken  by  no  sound  but  the  dealing  of 
the  cards.  M.  and  Mme.  Camusot,  sensible  of  a  decided  chill 
in  the  atmosphere,  took  their  departure  to  leave  the  conspira- 
tors to  talk  at  their  ease. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  249 

"Camusot,"  the  lady  began  in  the  street,  "you  went  too 
far.  Why  lead  those  people  to  suspect  that  you  will  have  no 
part  in  their  schemes?  They  will  play  you  some  ugly 
trick." 

"What  can  they  do?  I  am  the  only  examining  magis- 
trate." 

"Cannot  they  slander  you  in  whispers,  and  procure  your 
dismissal  ?" 

At  that  very  moment  Chesnel  ran  up  against  the  couple. 
The  old  notary  recognized  the  examining  magistrate;  and 
with  the  lucidity  which  comes  of  an  experience  of  business,  he 
saw  that  the  fate  of  the  d'Esgrignons  lay  in  the  hands  of 
the  young  man  before  him. 

"Ah,  sir!"  he  exclaimed,  "we  shall  soon  need  you  badly. 
Just  a  word  with  you. — Your  pardon,  madame,"  he  added, 
as  he  drew  Camusot  aside. 

Mme.  Camusot,  as  a  good  conspirator,  looked  towards  du 
Croisier's  house,  ready  to  break  up  the  conversation  if  any- 
body appeared;  but  she  thought,  and  thought  rightly,  that 
their  enemies  were  busy  discussing  this  unexpected  turn  which 
she  had  given  to  the  affair.  Chesnel  meanwhile  drew  the 
magistrate  into  a  dark  corner  under  the  wall,  and  lowered  his 
voice  for  his  companion's  ear. 

"If  you  are  for  the  house  of  d'Esgrignon,"  he  said,  "Mme. 
la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  the  Prince  de  Cadignan,  the 
Dues  de  Navarreins  and  de  Lenoncourt,  the  Keeper  of  the 
Seals,  the  Chancellor,  the  King  himself,  will  interest  them- 
selves in  you.  I  have  just  come  from  Paris ;  I  knew  all  about 
this;  I  went  post-haste  to  explain  everything  at  Court.  We 
are  counting  on  you,  and  I  will  keep  your  secret.  If  you  are 
hostile,  I  shall  go  back  to  Paris  to-morrow  and  lodge  a  com- 
plaint with  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  that  there  is  a  suspicion 
of  corruption.  Several  functionaries  were  at  du  Croisier's 
house  to-night,  and  no  doubt,  ate  and  drank  there,  contrary 
to  law ;  and  besides,  they  are  friends  of  his." 

Chesnel  would  have  brought  the  Almighty  to  intervene  if 
he  had  had  the  power.  He  did  not  wait  for  «a  answer ;  he  left 


250  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Camusot  and  fled  like  a  deer  towards  du  Croisier's  housu.' 
Camusot,  meanwhile,  bidden  to  reveal  the  notary's  con- 
fidences, was  at  once  assailed  with,  "Was  I  not  right,  dear?" 
— a  wifely  formula  used  on  all  occasions,  but  rather  more 
vehemently  when  the  fair  speaker  is  in  the  wrong.  By  the 
time  they  reached  home,  Camusot  had  admitted  the 
superiority  of  his  partner  in  life,  and  appreciated  his  good 
fortune  in  belonging  to  her ;  which  confession,  doubtless,  was 
the  prelude  of  a  blissful  night. 

Chesnel  met  his  foes  in  a  body  as  they  left  du  Croisier's 
house,  and  began  to  fear  that  du  Croisier  had  gone  to  bed. 
In  his  position  he  was  compelled  to  act  quickly,  and  any  de- 
lay was  a  misfortune. 

"In  the  King's  name  I"  he  cried,  as  the  man-servant  was 
closing  the  hall  door.  He  had  just  brought  the  King  on  the 
scene  for  the  benefit  of  an  ambitious  little  official,  and  the 
word  was  still  on  his  lips.  He  fretted  and  chafed  while  the 
door  was  unbarred ;  then,  swift  as  a  thunderbolt,  dashed  into 
the  ante-chamber,  and  spoke  to  the  servant 

"A  hundred  crowns  to  you,  young  man,  if  you  can  wake 
Mme.  du  Croisier  and  send  her  to  me  this  instant.  T<41  her 
anything  you  like." 

Chesnel  grew  cool  and  composed  as  he  opened  the  4oor 
of  the  brightly  lighted  drawing-room,  where  du  Croisier  was 
striding  up  and  down.  For  a  moment  the  two  men  scanned 
each  other,  with  hatred  and  enmity,  twenty  years'  deep,  in 
their  eyes.  One  of  the  two  had  his  foot  on  the  heart  of  the 
house  of  d'Esgrignon;  the  other,  with  a  lion's  strength,  came 
forward  to  pluck  it  away. 

"Your  humble  servant,  sir,"  said  Chesnel.  "Have  you 
made  the  charge  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"When  was  it  made?" 

"Yesterday." 

"Have  any  steps  been  taken  since  the  warrant  of  arrest  was 
issued  ?" 

"I  believe  so." 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  251 

"I  have  come  to  treat  with  you." 

"Justice  must  take  its  course,  nothing  can  stop  it,  the  ar- 
rest has  been  made." 

"Never  mind  that,  I  am  at  your  orders,  at  your  feet."  The 
old  man  knelt  before  du  Croisier,  and  stretched  out  his  hands 
entreatingly. 

"What  do  you  want?  Our  lands,  our  castle?  Take  all; 
withdraw  the  charge;  leave  us  nothing  but  life  and  honor. 
And  over  and  besides  all  this,  I  will  be  your  servant ;  com- 
mand and  I  will  obey." 

Du  Croisier  sat  down  in  an  easy-chair  and  left  the  old  man 
to  kneel. 

"You  are  not  vindictive,"  pleaded  Chesnel ;  "you  are  good- 
hearted,  you  do  not  bear  us  such  a  grudge  that  you  will  not 
lister  to  terms.  Before  daylight  the  young  man  ought  to  be 
at  liberty." 

"The  whole  town  knows  that  he  has  been  arrested,"  re- 
turned du  Croisier,  enjoying  his  revenge. 

"It  is  a  great  misfortune,  but  as  there  will  neither  be  proofs 
nor  trial,  we  can  easily  manage  that." 

Du  Croisier  reflected.  He  seemed  to  be  struggling  with 
self-interest;  Chesnel  thought  that  he  had  gained  a  hold  on 
his  enemy  through  the  great  motive  of  human  action.  At 
that  supreme  moment  Mme.  du  Croisier  appeared. 

"Come  here  and  help  me  to  soften  your  dear  husband, 
madame  ?"  said  Chesnel,  still  on  his  knees.  Mme.  du  Croisier 
made  him  rise  with  every  sign  of  profound  astonishment. 
Chesnel  explained  his  errand;  and  when  she  knew  it,  the 
generous  daughter  of  the  intendants  of  the  Dues  de  Alengon 
turned  to  du  Croisier  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Ah !  monsieur,  can  you  hesitate  ?  The  d'Esgrignons,  the 
honor  of  the  province !"  she  said. 

"There  is  more  in  it  than  that,"  exclaimed  du  Croisier,  ris- 
ing to  begin  his  restless  walk  again. 

"More  ?  What  more  ?"  asked  Chesnel  in  amazement. 

"France  is  involved,  M.  Chesnel!  It  is  a  question  of  the 
country.,  of  the  people,  of  giving  my  lords  your  nobles  a 


252  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

lesson,  and  teaching  them  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  justice, 
and  law,  and  a  bourgeoisie — a  lesser  nobility  as  good  as  they, 
and  a  match  for  them!  There  shall  be  no  more  trampling 
down  half  a  score  of  wheat  fields  for  a  single  hare;  no  bring- 
ing shame  on  families  by  seducing  unprotected  girls;  they 
shall  not  look  down  on  others  as  good  as  they  are,  and  mock 
at  them  for  ten  whole  years,  without  finding  out  at  last  that 
these  things  swell  into  avalanches,  and  those  avalanches  will 
fall  and  crush  and  bury  my  lords  the  nobles.  You  want  to 
go  back  to  the  old  order  of  things.  You  want  to  tear  up  the 
social  compact,  the  Charter  in  which  our  rights  are  set 
forth " 

"And  so?" 

"Is  it  not  a  sacred  mission  to  open  the  people's  eyes  ?"  cried 
du  Croisier.  "Their  eyes  will  be  opened  to  the  morality  of 
your  party  when  they  see  nobles  going  to  be  tried  at  the  As- 
size Court  like  Pierre  and  Jacques.  They  will  say,  then,  that 
small  folk  who  keep  their  self-respect  are  as  good  as  great 
folk  that  bring  shame  on  themselves.  The  Assize  Court  is  a 
light  for  all  the  world.  Here,  I  am  the  champion  of  the 
people,  the  friend  of  law.  You  yourselves  twice  flung  me  on 
the  side  of  the  people — once  when  you  refused  an  alliance, 
twice  when  you  put  me  under  the  ban  of  your  society.  You 
are  reaping  as  you  have  sown." 

If  Chesnel  "was  startled  by  this  outburst,  so  no  less  was 
Mme.  du  Croisier.  To  her  this  was  a  terrible  revelation  of 
her  husband's  character,  a  new  light  not  merely  on  the  past 
but  on  the  future  as  well.  Any  capitulation  on  the  part  of 
the  colossus  was  apparently  out  of  the  question;  but  Chesnel 
in  no  wise  retreated  before  the  impossible. 

"What,  monsieur?"  said  Mme.  du  Croisier.  "Would  you 
not  forgive?  Then  you  are  not  a  Christian." 

"I  forgive  as  God  forgives,  madame,  on  certain  condi- 
tions." 

"And  what  are  they  ?"  asked  Chesnel,  thinking  that  he  saw 
a  ray  of  hope. 

"The  elections  are  coming  on;  I  want  the  votes  at  your  dis- 
posal." 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  253 

"You  shall  have  them." 

"I  wish  that  we,  my  wife  and  I,  should  be  received 
familiarly  every  evening,  with  an  appearance  of  friendliness 
at  any  rate,  my  M.  le  Marquis  d'Esgrignon  and  his  circle," 
continued  du  Croisier. 

"I  do  not  know  how  we  are  going  to  compass  it,  but  you 
shall  be  received." 

"I  wish  to  have  the  family  bound  over  by  a  surety  of  four 
hundred  thousand  francs,  and  by  a  written  document  stating 
the  nature  of  the  compromise,  so  as  to  keep  a  loaded  cannon 
pointed  at  its  heart." 

"We  agree,"  said  Chesnel,  without  admitting  that  the  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  was  in  his  possession;  "but  the 
amount  must  be  deposited  with  a  third  party  and  returned 
to  the  family  after  your  election  and  repayment." 

"No;  after  the  marriage  of  my  grand-niece,  Mile.  Duval. 
She  will  very  likely  have  four  million  francs  some  day;  the 
reversion  of  our  property  (mine  and  my  wife's)  shall  be 
settled  upon  her  by  her  marriage-contract,  and  you  shall  ar- 
range a  match  between  her  and  the  young  Count." 

"Never !" 

"Never!"  repeated  du  Croisier,  quite  intoxicated  with 
triumph.  "Good-night  I" 

"Idiot  that  I  am,"  thought  Chesnel,  "why  did  I  shrink  from 
a  lie  to  such  a  man?" 

Du  Croisier  took  himself  off ;  he  was  pleased  with  himself ; 
he  had  enjoyed  Chesnel's  humiliation;  he  had  held  the 
destinies  of  a  proud  house,  the  representatives  of  the  aristoc- 
racy of  the  province,  suspended  in  his  hand;  he  had  set  the 
print  of  his  heel  on  the  very  heart  of  the  d'Esgrignons ;  and, 
finally,  he  had  broken  off  the  whole  negotiation  on  the  score 
of  his  wounded  pride.  He  went  up  to  his  room,  leaving  his 
wife  alone  with  Chesnel.  In  his  intoxication,  he  saw  his 
victory  clear  before  him.  He  firmly  believed  that  the  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  had  been  squandered;  the  d'Esgri- 
gnons must  sell  or  mortgage  all  that  they  had  to  raise  the 
money ;  the  Assize  Court  was  inevitable  to  his  mind. 


254  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

An  affair  of  forgery  can  always  be  settled  out  of  court  in 
France  if  the  missing  amount  is  returned.  The  losers  by 
the  crime  are  usually  well-to-do,  and  have  no  wish  to  blight 
an  imDrudent  man's  character.  But  du  Croisier  had  no 
mind  to  slacken  his  hold  until  he  knew  what  he  was  about. 
He  meditated  until  he  fell  asleep  on  the  magnificent  manner 
in  which  his  hopes  would  be  fulfilled  by  way  of  the  Assize 
Court  or  by  marriage.  The  murmur  of  voices  below,  the 
lamentations  of  Chesnel  and  Mme.  du  Croisier,  sounded 
sweet  in  his  ears. 

Mme.  du  Croisier  shared  Chesnel's  views  of  the  d'Esgri- 
gnons.  She  was  a  deeply  religious  woman,  a  Eoyalist  at- 
tached to  the  noblesse ;  the  interview  had  been"  in  every  way  a 
cruel  shock  to  her  feelings.  She,  a  staunch  Koyalist,  had 
heard  the  roaring  of  that  Liberalism,  which,  in  her  director's 
opinion,  wished  to  crush  the  Church.  The  Left  benches  for 
her  meant  the  popular  upheaval  and  the  scaffolds  of  1793. 

"What  would  your  uncle,  that  sainted  man  who  hears  us, 
say  to  this  ?"  exclaimed  Chesnel.  Mme.  du  Croisier  made  no 
reply,  but  the  great  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"You  have  already  been  the  cause  of  one  poor  boy's  death ; 
his  mother  will  go  mourning  all  her  days,"  continued  Chesnel; 
he  saw  how  his  words  told,  but  he  would  have  struck  harder 
and  even  broken  this  woman's  heart  to  save  Victurnien. 
"Do  you  want  to  kill  Mile.  Armande,  for  she  would  not  survive 
the  dishonor  of  the  house  for  a  week  ?  Do  you  wish  to  be  the 
death  of  poor  Chesnel,  your  old  notary  ?  For  I  shall  kill  the 
Count  in  prison  before  they  shall  bring  the  charge  against 
him,  and  take  my  own  life  afterwards,  before  they  shall  try 
me  for  murder  in  an  Assize  Court." 

"That  is  enough !  that  is  enough,  my  friend !  I  would  do 
anything  to  put  a  stop  to  such  an  affair;  but  I  never  knew 
M.  du  Croisier's  real  character  until  a  few  minutes  ago.  To 
you  I  can  make  the  admission :  there  is  nothing  to  be  done." 

"But  what  if  there  is?" 

"I  would  give  half  the  blood  in  my  veins  that  it  were  so," 
said  she,  finishing  her  sentence  by  a  wistful  shake  of  the  head. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  255 

As  the  First  Consul,  beaten  on  the  field  of  Marengo  till 
five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  by  six  o'clock  saw  the  tide  of  battle 
turned  by  Desaix's  desperate  attack  and  Kellermann's  terrific 
charge,  so  Chesnel  in  the  midst  of  defeat  saw  the  beginnings 
of  victory.  No  one  but  a  Chesnel,  an  old  notary,  an  ex- 
steward  of  the  manor,  old  Maitre  Sorbier's  junior  clerk,  in 
the  sudden  flash  of  lucidity  which  conies  with  despair,  could 
rise  thus,  high  as  a  Napoleon,  nay,  higher.  This  was  not 
Marengo,  it  was  Waterloo,  and  the  Prussians  had  come  up; 
Chesnel  saw  this,  and  was  determined  to  beat  them  off  the 
field. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "remember  that  I  have  been  your  man 
of  business  for  twenty  years;  remember  that  if  the  d'Esgri- 
gnons  mean  the  honor  of  the  province,  you  represent  the 
honor  of  the  bourgeoisie ;  it  rests  with  you,  and  you  alone,  to 
save  the  ancient  house.  Now,  answer  me ;  are  you  going  to 
allow  dishonor  to  fall  on  the  shade  of  your  dead  uncle,  on  the 
d'Esgrignons,  on  poor  Chesnel?  Do  you  want  to  kill  Mile. 
Armande  weeping  yonder  ?  Or  do  you  wish  to  expiate  wrongs 
done  to  others  by  a  deed  which  will  rejoice  your  ancestors, 
the  intendants  of  the  dukes  of  Alengon,  and  bring  comfort 
to  the  soul  of  our  dear  Abbe?  If  he  could  rise  from  his 
grave,  he  would  command  you  to  do  this  thing  that  I  beg  of 
you  upon  my  knees." 
.  "What  is  it  ?"  asked  Mme.  du  Croisier. 

"Well.  Here  are  the  hundred  thousand  crowns,"  said 
Chesnel,  drawing  the  bundles  of  notes  from  his  pocket.  "Take 
them,  and  there  will  be  an  end  of  it." 

"If  that  is  all,"  she  began,  "and  if  no  harm  can  come  of  it 
to  my  husband 

"Nothing  but  good,"  Chesnel  replied.  "You  are  saving 
him  from  eternal  punishment  in  hell,  at  the  cost  of  a  slight 
disappointment  here  below." 

"He  will  not  be  compromised,  will  he  ?"  she  asked,  looking 
into  Chesnel's  face. 

Then  Chesnel  read  the  depths  of  the  poor  wife's  mind, 
Mme.  du  Croisier  was  hesitating  between  her  two  creeds ;  be- 
VOL.  7—39 


256 

tween  wifely  obedience  to  her  husband  as  laid  down  by  the 
Church,  and  obedience  to  the  altar  and  the  throne.  Her 
husband,  in  her  eyes,  was  acting  wrongly,  but  she  dared  not 
blame  him;  she  would  fain  save  the  d'Esgrignons,  but  she 
was  loyal  to  her  husband's  interests. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  Chesnel  answered;  "your  old  notary 
swears  it  by  the  Holy  Gospels " 

He  had  nothing  left  to  lose  for  the  d'Esgrignons  but  his 
soul;  he  risked  it  now  by  this  horrible  perjury,  but  Mme. 
du  Croisier  must  be  deceived,  there  was  no  other  choice  but 
death.  Without  losing  a  moment,  he  dictated  a  form  of 
receipt  by  which  Mme.  du  Croisier  acknowledged  payment  of 
a  hundred  thousand  crowns  five  days  before  the  fatal  letter 
of  exchange  appeared ;  for  he  recollected  that  du  Croisier  was 
away  from  home,  superintending  improvements  on  his  wife's 
property  at  the  time. 

"Now  swear  to  me  that  you  will  declare  before  the  ex- 
amining magistrate  that  you  received  the  money  on  that 
date,"  he  said,  when  Mme.  du  Croisier  had  taken  the  notes  and 
he  held  the  receipt  in  his  hand. 

"It  will  be  a  lie,  will  it  not  ?" 

"Venial  sin/'  said  Chesnel. 

"I  could  not  do  it  without  consulting  my  director,  M. 
TAbbe  Couturier." 

"Very  well,"  said  Chesnel,  "will  you  be  guided  entirely  by 
his  advice  in  this  affair  ?" 

"I  promise  that." 

"And  you  must  not  give  the  money  to  M.  du  Croisier  until 
you  have  been  before  the  magistrate." 

"No.  Ah !  God  give  me  strength  to  appear  in  a  Court  of 
Justice  and  maintain  a  lie  before  men !" 

Chesnel  kissed  Mme.  du  Croisier's  hand,  then  stood  up- 
right, and  majestic  as  one  of  the  prophets  that  Eaphael  paint- 
ed in  the  Vatican. 

"Your  uncle's  soul  is  thrilled  with  joy,"  he  said ;  "you  have 
wiped  out  for  ever  the  wrong  that  you  did  by  marrying  an 
enemy  of  altar  and  throne" — words  that  made  a  lively  impres' 
sion  on  Mme.  du  Croisier's  timorous  mind. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  257 

Then  Chesnel  all  at  once  bethought  himself  that  he  must 
make  sure  of  the  lady's  director,  the  Abbe  Couturier.  He 
knew  how  obstinately  devout  souls  can  work  for  the  triumph 
of  their  views  when  once  they  come  forward  for  their  side,  and 
wished  to  secure  the  concurrence  of  the  Church  as  early  as 
possible.  So  he  went  to  the  Hotel  d'Esgrignon,  roused  up 
Mile.  Armande,  gave  her  an  account  of  that  night's  work,  and 
sped  her  to  fetch  the  Bishop  himself  into  the  forefront  of  the 
battle. 

"Ah,  God  in  heaven !  Thou  must  save  the  house  of  d'Esgri- 
gnon !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  went  slowly  home  again.  "The 
affair  is  developing  now  into  a  fight  in  a  Court  of  Law.  We 
are  face  to  face  with  men  that  have  passions  and  interests 
of  their  own;  we  can  get  anything  out  of  them.  This  du 
Croisier  has  taken  advantage  of  the  public  prosecutor's 
absence;  the  public  prosecutor  is  devoted  to  us,  but  since  the 
opening  of  the  Chambers  he  has  gone  to  Paris.  Now,  what 
can  they  have  done  to  get  round  his  deputy  ?  They  have  in- 
duced him  to  take  up  the  charge  without  consulting  his  chief. 
This  mystery  must  be  looked  into,  and  the  ground  surveyed 
to-morrow;  and  then,  perhaps,  when  I  have  unraveled  this 
web  of  theirs,  I  will  go  back  to  Paris  to  set  great  powers  at 
work  through  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse." 

So  he  reasoned,  poor,  aged,  clear-sighted  wrestler,  before 
he  lay  down  half  dead  with  bearing  the  weight  of  so  much 
emotion  and  fatigue.  And  yet,  before  he  fell  asleep  he  ran 
a  searching  eye  over  the  list  of  magistrates,  taking  all  their 
secret  ambitions  into  account,  casting  about  for  ways  of  in- 
fluencing them,  calculating  his  chances  in  the  coming 
struggle.  Chesnel's  prolonged  scrutiny  of  consciences,  given 
in  a  condensed  form,  will  perhaps  serve  as  a  picture  of  the 
judicial  world  in  a  country  town. 

Magistrates  and  officials  generally  are  obliged  to  begin  their 
career  in  the  provinces;  judicial  ambition  there  ferments. 
At  the  outset  every  man  looks  towards  Paris ;  they  all  aspire 
to  shine  in  the  vast  theatre  where  great  political  causes  come 
before  the  courts,  and  the  higher  branches  of  the  legal  pro- 


258  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

fission  are  closely  connected  with  the  palpitating  interests  of 
society.  But  few  are  called  to  that  paradise  of  the  man  of 
law,  and  nine-tenths  of  the  profession  are  bound  sooner  or 
later  to  regard  themselves  as  shelved  for  good  in  the  prov- 
inces. Wherefore,  every  Tribunal  of  First  Instance  and 
every  Court-Royal  is  sharply  divided  in  two.  The  first  sec- 
tion has  given  up  hope,  and  is  either  torpid  or  content;  con- 
tent with  the  excessive  respect  paid  to  office  in  a  country  town, 
or  torpid  with  tranquillity.  The  second  section  is  made  up  of 
the  younger  sort,  in  whom  the  desire  of  success  is  untempered 
as  yet  by  disappointment,  and  of  the  really  clever  men  urged 
^n  continually  by  ambition  as  with  a  goad;  and  these  two 
%re  possessed  with  a  sort  of  fanatical  belief  in  their  order. 

At  this  time  the  younger  men  were  full  of  Eoyalist  zeal 
against  the  enemies  of  the  Bourbons.  The  most  insignificant 
•deputy  official  was  dreaming  of  conducting  a  prosecution,  and 
praying  with  all  his  might  for  one  of  those  political  cases 
which  bring  a  man's  zeal  into  prominence,  draw  the  attention 
of  the  higher  powers,  and  mean  advancement  for  King's  men. 
Was  there  a  member  of  an  official  staff  of  prosecuting  counsel 
who  could  hear  of  a  Bonapartist  conspiracy  breaking  out 
somewhere  else  without  a  feeling  of  envy?  Where  was  the 
man  that  did  not  burn  to  discover  a  Caron,  or  a  Berton,  or  a 
revolt  of  some  sort?  With  reasons  of  State,  and  the  ne- 
cessity of  diffusing  the  monarchical  spirit  throughout  France 
as  their  basis,  and  a  fierce  ambition  stirred  up  whenever  party 
spirit  ran  high,  these  ardent  politicians  on  their  promotion 
were  lucid,  clear-sighted,  and  perspicacious.  They  kept  up  a 
vigorous  detective  system  throughout  the  kingdom;  they  did 
the  work  of  spies,  and  urged  the  nation  along  a  path  of 
obedience,  from  which  it  had  no  business  to  swerve. 

Justice,  thus  informed  with  monarchical  enthusiasm, 
atoned  for  the  errors  of  the  ancient  parliaments,  and  walked, 
perhaps,  too  ostentatiously  hand  in  hand  with  religion  There 
was  more  zeal  than  discretion  shown ;  but  justice  sinned  not 
so  much  in  the  direction  of  machiavelism  as  by  giving  too 
candid  expression  to  its  yiews,  when  those  views  appeared  to 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  259 

be  opposed  to  the  general  interests  of  a  country  which  must 
be  put  safely  out  of  reach  of  revolutions.  But  taken  as  a 
whole,  there  was  still  too  much  of  the  bourgeois  element  in 
the  administration ;  it  was  too  readily  moved  by  petty  Liberal 
agitation ;  and  as  a  result,  it  was  inevitable  that  it  should  in- 
cline sooner  or  later  to  the  Constitutional  party,  and  join 
ranks  with  the  bourgeoisie  in  the  day  of  battle.  In  the  great 
body  of  legal  functionaries,  as  in  other  departments  of  the 
administration,  there  was  not  wanting  a  certain  hypocrisy, 
or  rather  that  spirit  of  imitation  which  always  leads  France 
to  model  herself  on  the  Court,  and,  quite  unintentionally,  to 
deceive  the  powers  that  be. 

Officials  of  both  complexions  were  to  be  found  in  the  court 
in  which  young  d'Esgrignon's  fate  depended.  M.  le  Presi- 
dent du  Ronceret  and  an  elderly  judge,  Blondet  by  name,  rep- 
resented the  section  of  functionaries  shelved  for  good,  and 
resigned  to  stay  where  they  were;  while  the  young  and 
ambitious  party  comprised  the  examining  magistrate  M. 
Camusot,  and  his  deputy  M.  Michu,  appointed  through  the 
interests  of  the  Cinq-Cygnes,  and  certain  of  promotion  to  the 
Court  of  Appeal  of  Paris  at  the  first  opportunity. 

President  du  Ronceret  held  a  permanent  post;  it  was  im- 
possible to  turn  him  out.  The  aristocratic  party  declined  to 
give  him  what  he  considered  to  be  his  due,  socially  speaking ; 
so  he  declared  for  the  bourgeoisie,  glossed  over  his  disappoint- 
ment with  the  name  of  independence,  and  failed  to  realize 
that  his  opinions  condemned  him  to  remain  a  president  of 
a  court  of  first  instance  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 
Once  started  in  this  track  the  sequence,  of  events  led  du  Ron- 
ceret to  place  his  hopes  of  advancement  on  the  triumph  of  du 
Croisier  and  the  Left.  He  was  in  no  better  odor  at  the  Pre- 
fecture than  at  the  Court-Royal.  He  was  compelled  to  keep 
on  good  terms  with  the  authorities;  the  Liberals  distrusted 
him,  consequently  he  belonged  to  neither  party.  He  was 
obliged  to  resign  his  chances  of  election  to  du  Croisier,  he 
exercised  no  influence,  and  played  a  secondary  part.  The 
false  position  reacted  on  his  character ;  he  was  soured  and  dis- 
contented ;  he  was  tired  of  political  ambiguity,  and  privately 


260  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

had  made  up  his  mind  to  come  forward  openly  as  leader  of 
the  Liberal  party,  and  so  to  strike  ahead  of  du  Croisier.  His 
behavior  in  the  d'Esgrignon  affair  was  the  first  step  in  this 
direction.  To  begin  with,  he  was  an  admirable  representa- 
tive of  that  section  of  the  middle  classes  which  allows  its  petty 
passions  to  obscure  the  wider  interests  of  the  country ;  a  class 
of  crotchety  politicians,  upholding  the  government  one  day 
and  opposing  it  the  next,  compromising  every  cause  and  help- 
ing none ;  helpless  after  they  have  done  the  mischief  till  they 
set  about  brewing  more;  unwilling  to  face  their  own  incom- 
petence, thwarting  authority  while  professing  to  serve  it. 
With  a  compound  of  arrogance  and  humility  they  demand  of 
the  people  more  submission  than  kings  expect,  and  fret  their 
souls  because  those  above  them  are  not  brought  down  to  their 
level,  as  if  greatness  could  be  little,  as  if  power  existed  with- 
out force. 

President  du  Ronceret  was  a  tall,  spare  man  with  a  receding 
forehead  and  scanty,  auburn  hair.  He  was  wall-eyed,  his 
complexion  was  blotched,  his  lips  thin  and  hard,  his  scarcely 
audible  voice  came  out  like  the  husky  wheezings  of  asthma. 
He  had  for  a  wife  a  great,  solemn,  clumsy  creature,  tricked 
out  in  the  most  ridiculous  fashion,  and  outrageously  over- 
dressed. Mme.  la  Presidente  gave  herself  the  airs  of  a  queen; 
she  wore  vivid  colors,  and  always  appeared  at  balls  adorned 
with  the  turban,  dear  to  the  British  female,  and  lovingly 
cultivated  in  out-of-the-way  districts  in  France.  Each  of  the 
pair  had  an  income  of  four  or  five  thousand  francs,  which, 
with  the  President's  salary,  reached  a  total  of  some  twelve 
thousand.  In  spite-  of  a  decided  tendency  to  parsimony, 
vanity  required  that  they  should  receive  one  evening  in  the 
week.  Du  Croisier  might  import  modern  luxury  into  the 
town,  M.  and  Mme.  du  Ronceret  were  faithful  to  the  old  tradi- 
tions. They  had  always  lived  in  the  old-fashioned  house  be- 
longing to  Mme.  du  Ronceret,  and  had  made  no  changes  in  it 
since  their  marriage.  The  house  stood  between  a  garden  and 
a  courtyard.  The  gray  old  gable  end,  with  one  window  in 
each  story,  gave  upon  the  road.  High  walls  enclosed  the 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     261 

garden  and  the  yard,  but  the  space  taken  up  beneath  them  in 
the  garden  by  a  walk  shaded  with  chestnut  trees  was  filled  in 
the  yard  by  a  row  of  outbuildings.  An  old  rust-devoured 
iron  gate  in  the  garden  wall  balanced  the  yard  gateway,  a 
huge,  double-leaved  carriage  entrance  with  a  buttress  on  either 
side,  and  a  mighty  shell  on  the  top.  The  same  shell  was 
repeated  over  the  house-door. 

The  whole  place  was  gloomy,  close,  and  airless.  The  row 
of  iron-grated  openings  in  the  opposite  wall,  as  you  entered, 
reminded  you  of  prison  windows.  Every  passer-by  could  look 
in  through  the  railings  to  see  how  the  garden  grew;  the 
flowers  in  the  little  square  borders  never  seemed  to  thrive 
there. 

The  drawing-room  on  the  ground  floor  was  lighted  by  a 
single  window  on  the  side  of  the  street,  and  a  French  window 
above  a  flight  of  steps,  which  gave  upon  the  garden.  The 
dining-room  on  the  other  side  of  the  great  ante-chamber,  with 
its  windows  also  looking  out  into  the  garden,  was  exactly 
the  same  size  as  the  drawing-room,  and  all  three  apartments 
were  in  harmony  with  the  general  air  of  gloom.  It  wearied 
your  eyes  to  look  at  the  ceilings  all  divided  up  by  huge  painted 
crossbeams  and  adorned  with  a  feeble  lozenge  pattern  or  a 
rosette  in  the  middle.  The  paint  was  old,  startling  in  tint, 
and  begrimed  with  smoke.  The  sun  had  faded  the  heavy 
silk  curtains  in  the  drawing-room ;  the  old-fashioned  Beauvais 
tapestry  which  covered  the  white-painted  furniture  had  lost  all 
its  color  with  wear.  A  Louis  Quinze  clock  on  the  chimney- 
piece  stood  between  two  extravagant,  branched  sconces  filled 
with  yellow  wax  candles,  which  the  Presidente  only  lighted  on 
occasions  when  the  old-fashioned  rock-crystal  chandelier 
emerged  from  its  green  wrapper.  Three  card-tables,  covered 
with  threadbare  baize,  and  a  backgammon  box,  sufficed  for  the 
recreations  of  the  company;  and  Mme.  du  Ronceret  treated 
them  to  such  refreshments  as  cider,  chestnuts,  pastry  puffs, 
glasses  of  eau  sucree,  and  home-made  orgeat.  For  some  time 
past  she  had  made  a  practice  of  giving  a  party  once  a  fort- 
night, when  tea  and  some  pitiable  attempts  at  pastry  appeared 
to  grace  the  occasion. 


262  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Once  a  quarter  the  du  Koncerets  gave  a  grand  three-course 
dinner,  which  made  a  great  sensation  in  the  town,  a  dinner 
served  up  in  execrable  ware,  but  prepared  with  the  science  for 
which  the  provincial  cook  is  remarkable.  It  was  a  Gargantuan 
repast,  which  lasted  for  six  whole  hours,  and  by  abundance 
the  President  tried  to  vie  with  du  Croisier's  elegance. 

And  so  du  Konceret's  life  and  its  accessories  were  just  what 
might  have  been  expected  from  his  character  and  his  false 
position.  He  felt  dissatisfied  at  home  without  precisely  know- 
ing what  was  the  matter ;  but  he  dared  not  go  to  any  expense 
to  change  existing  conditions,  and  was  only  too  glad  to  put 
by  seven  or  eight  thousand  francs  every  year,  so  as  to  leave 
his  son  Fabien  a  handsome  private  fortune.  Fabien  du  Bon- 
ceret  had  no  mind  for  the  magistracy,  the  bar,  or  the  civil 
service,  and  his  pronounced  turn  for  doing  nothing  drove  his 
parent  to  despair. 

On  this  head  there  was  rivalry  between  the  President  and 
the  Vice-President,  old  M.  Blondet.  M,  Blondet,  for  a  long 
time  past,  had  been  sedulously  cultivating  an  acquaintance  be- 
tween his  son  and  the  Blandureau  family.  The  Blandureaus 
were  well-to-do  linen  manufacturers,  with  an  only  daughter, 
and  it  was  on  this  daughter  that  the  President  had  fixed  his 
choice  of  a  wife  for  Fabien.  Now,  Joseph  Blondet's  marriage 
with  Mile.  Blandureau  depended  on  his  nomination  to  the 
post  which  his  father,  old  Blondet,  hoped  to  obtain  for  him 
when  he  himself  should  retire.  But  President  du  Eonceret, 
in  underhand  ways,  was  thwarting  the  old  man's  plans,  and 
working  indirectly  upon  the  Blandureaus.  Indeed,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  this  affair  of  young  d'Esgrignon's,  the  astute 
President  might  have  cut  them  out,  father  and  son,  for  their 
rivals  were  very  much  richer. 

M.  Blondet,  the  victim  of  the  machiavelian  President's 
intrigues,  was  one  of  the  curious  figures  which  lie  buried  away 
in  the  provinces  like  old  coins  in  a  crypt.  He  was  at  that 
time  a  man  of  sixty-seven  or  thereabouts,  but  he  carried  his 
years  well ;  he  was  very  tall,  and  in  build  reminded  you  of  the 
canons  of  the  good  old  times.  The  smallpox  had  riddled  his 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     268 

face  with  numberless  dints,  and  spoilt  the  shape  of  his  nose  by 
imparting  to  it  a  gimlet-like  twist ;  it  was  a  countenance  by  no 
means  lacking  in  character,  very  evenly  tinted  with  a  diffused 
red,  lighted  up  by  a  pair  of  bright  little  eyes,  with  a  sardonic 
look  in  them,  while  a  certain  sarcastic  twitch  of  the  purpled 
lips  gave  expression  to  that  feature. 

Before  the  Eevolution  broke  out,  Blondet  senior  had  been 
a  barrister;  afterwards  he  became  the  public  accuser,  and 
one  of  the  mildest  of  those  formidable  functionaries.  Good- 
man Blondet,  as  they  used  to  call  him,  deadened  the  force  of 
the  new  doctrines  by  acquiescing  in  them  all,  and  putting 
none  of  them  in  practice.  He  had  been  obliged  to  send  one 
or  two  nobles  to  prison;  but  his  further  proceedings  were 
marked  with  such  deliberation,  that  he  brought  them  through 
to  the  9th  Thermidor  with  a  dexterity  which  won  respect  for 
him  on  all  sides.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Goodman  Blondet 
ought  to  have  been  President  of  the  Tribunal,  but  when  the 
courts  of  law  were  reorganized  he  had  been  set  aside; 
Napoleon's  aversion  for  Eepublicans  was  apt  to  reappear 
in  the  smallest  appointments  under  his  government.  The 
qualification  of  ex-public  accuser,  written  in  the  margin  of 
the  list  against  Blondet's  name,  set  the  Emperor  inquiring  of 
Cambaceres  whether  there  might  not  be  some  scion  of  an 
ancient  parliamentary  stock  to  appoint  instead.  The  con- 
sequence was  that  du  Eonceret,  whose  father  had  been  a 
councillor  of  parliament,  was  nominated  to  the  presidency; 
but,  the  Emperor's  repugnance  notwithstanding,  Cambaceres 
allowed  Blondet  to  remain  on  the  bench,  saying  that  the  old 
barrister  was  one  of  the  best  jurisconsults  in  France. 

Blondet's  talents,  his  knowledge  of  the  old  law  of  the  land 
and  subsequent  legislation,  should  by  rights  have  brought 
him  far  in  his  profession ;  but  he  had  this  much  in  common 
with  some  few  great  spirits :  he  entertained  a  prodigious  con- 
tempt for  his  own  special  knowledge,  and  reserved  all  his 
pretentions,  leisure,  and  capacity  for  a  second  pursuit  un- 
connected with  the  law.  To  this  pursuit  he  gave  his  almost 
exclusive  attention.  The  good  man  was  passionately  fond  of 


264  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

gardening.  He  was  in  correspondence  with  some  of  the  most 
celebrated  amateurs ;  it  was  his  ambition  to  create  new  species ; 
he  took  an  interest  in  botanical  discoveries,  and  lived,  in  short, 
in  the  world  of  flowers.  Like  all  florists,  he  had  a  predilec- 
tion for  one  particular  plant ;  the  pelargonium  was  his  especial 
favorite.  The  court,  the  cases  that  came  before  it,  and  his 
outward  life  were  as  nothing  to  him  compared  with 
the  inward  life  of  fancies  and  abundant  emotions  which  the 
old  man  led.  He  fell  more  and  more  in  love  with  his  flower- 
seraglio  ;  and  the  pains  which  he  bestowed  on  his  garden,  the 
sweet  round  of  the  labors  of  the  months,  held  Goodman  Blon- 
det  fast  in  his  greenhouse.  But  for  that  hobby  he  would  have 
been  a  deputy  under  the  Empire,  and  shone  conspicuous  be- 
yond a  doubt  in  the  Corps  Legislatif. 

His  marriage  was  the  second  cause  of  his  obscurity.  As  a 
man  of  forty,  he  was  rash  enough  to  marry  a  girl  of  eighteen, 
by  whom  he  had  a  son  named  Joseph  in  the  first  year  of  their 
marriage.  Three  years  afterwards  Mme.  Blondet,  then  the 
prettiest  woman  in  the  town,  inspired  in  the  prefect  of  the 
department  a  passion  which  ended  only  with  her  death.  The 
prefect  was  the  father  of  her  second  son  Emile;  the  whole 
town  knew  this,  old  Blondet  himself  knew  it.  The  wife  who 
might  have  roused  her  husband's  ambition,  who  might  have 
won  him  away  from  his  flowers,  positively  encouraged  the 
judge  in  his  botanical  tastes.  She  no  more  cared  to  leave  the 
place  than  the  prefect  cared  to  leave  his  prefecture  so  long 
as  his  mistress  lived. 

Blondet  felt  himself  unequal  at  his  age  to  a  contest  with 
a  young  wife.  He  sought  consolation  in  his  greenhouse,  and 
engaged  a  very  pretty  servant-maid  to  assist  him  to  tend  his 
ever-changing  bevy  of  beauties.  So  while  the  judge  potted, 
pricked  out,  watered,  layered,  slipped,  blended,  and  induced 
his  flowers  to  break,  Mme.  Blondet  spent  his  substance  on  the 
dress  and  finery  in  which  she  shone  at  the  prefecture.  One 
interest  alone  had  power  to  draw  her  away  from  the  tender 
care  of  a  romantic  affection  which  the  town  came  to  admire 
in  the  end;  and  this  interest  was  Smile's  education.  The 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  265 

child  of  love  was  a  bright  and  pretty  boy,  while  Joseph  was  no 
less  heavy  and  plain-featured.  The  old  judge,  blinded  by 
paternal  affection,  loved  Joseph  as  his  wife  loved  ]£mile. 

For  a  dozen  years  M.  Blondet  bore  his  lot  with  perfect 
resignation.  He  shut  his  eyes  to  his  wife's  intrigue  with  a 
dignified,  well-bred  composure,  quite  in  the  style  of  an 
eighteenth  century  grand  seigneur;  but,  like  all  men  with  a 
taste  for  a  quiet  life,  he  could  cherish  a  profound  dislike,  and 
he  hated  his  younger  son.  When  his  wife  died,  therefore,  in 
1818,  he  turned  the  intruder  out  of  the  house,  and  packed  him 
off  to  Paris  to  study  law  on  an  allowance  of  twelve  hundred 
francs  for  all  resource,  nor  could  any  cry  of  distress  extract 
another  penny  from  his  purse.  Emile  Blondet  would  have 
gone  under  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  real  father. 

M.  Blondet's  house  was  one  of  the  prettiest  in  the  town. 
It  stood  almost  opposite  the  prefecture,  with  a  neat  little 
court  in  front.  A  row  of  old-fashioned  iron  railings  between 
two  brickwork  piers  enclosed  it  from  the  street;  and  a  low 
wall,  also  of  brick,  with  a  second  row  of  railings  along  the 
top,  connected  the  piers  with  the  neighboring  house.  The 
little  court,  a  space  about  ten  fathoms  in  width  by  twenty 
in  length,  was  cut  in  two  by  a  brick  pathway  which  ran  from 
the  gate  to  the  house  door  between  a  border  on  either  side. 
Those  borders  were  always  renewed;  at  every  season  of  the 
year  they  exhibited  a  successful  show  of  blossom,  to  the 
admiration  of  the  public.  All  along  the  back  of  the  garden- 
beds  a  quantity  of  climbing  plants  grew  up  and  covered  the 
walls  of  the  neighboring  houses  with  a.  magnificent  mantle ; 
the  brickwork  piers  were  hidden  in  clusters  of  honeysuckle; 
and,  to  crown  all,  in  a  couple  of  terra-cotta  vases  at  the  sum- 
mit, a  pair  of  acclimatized  cactuses  displayed  to  the  astonished 
eyes  of  the  ignorant  those  thick  leaves  bristling  with  spiny 
defences  which  seem  to  be  due  to  some  plant  disease. 

It  was  a  plain-looking  house,  built  of  brick,  with  brick- 
work arches  above  the  windows,  and  bright  green  Venetian 
shutters  to  make  it  gay.  Through  the  glass  door  you  could 
look  straight  across  the  house  to  the  opposite  glass  door,  at 


266  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

the  end  of  a  long  passage,  and  down  the  central  alley  in  the 
garden  beyond;  while  through  the  windows  of  the  dining- 
room  and  drawing-room,  which  extended,  like  the  passage, 
from  back  to  front  of  the  house,  you  could  often  catch  further 
glimpses  of  the  flower-beds  in  a  garden  of  about  two  acres  in 
extent.  Seen  from  the  road,  the  brick-work  harmonized  with 
the  fresh  flowers  and  shrubs,  for  two  centuries  had  overlaid  it 
with  mosses  and  green  and  russet  tints.  No  one  could  pass 
through  the  town  without  falling  in  love  with  a  house  with 
such  charming  surroundings,  so  covered  with  flowers  and 
mosses  to  the  roof-ridge,  where  two  pigeons  of  glazed  crockery 
ware  were  perched  by  way  of  ornament. 

M.  Blondet  possessed  an  income  of  about  four  thousand 
livres  derived  from  land,  besides  the  old  house  in  the  town. 
He  meant  to  avenge  his  wrongs  legitimately  enough.  He 
would  leave  his  house,  his  lands,  his  seat  on  the  bench  to  his 
son  Joseph,  and  the  whole  town  knew  what  he  meant  to  do. 
He  had  made  a  will  in  that  son's  favor;  he  had  gone  as  far 
as  the  Code  will  permit  a  man  to  go  in  the  way  of  disin- 
heriting one  child  to  benefit  another;  and  what  was  more, 
he  had  been  putting  by  money  for  the  past  fifteen  years  to 
enable  his  lout  of  a  son  to  buy  back  from  Himile  that  portion 
of  his  father's  estate  which  could  not  legally  be  taken  away 
from  him. 

Emile  Blondet  thus  turned  adrift  had  contrived  to  gain 
distinction  in  Paris,  but  so  far  it  was  rather  a  name  than  a 
practical  result.  Emile's  indolence,  recklessness,  and  happy- 
go-lucky  ways  drove  Jiis  real  father  to  despair;  and  when 
that  father  died,  a  half- ruined  man,  turned  out  of  office  by  one 
of  the  political  reactions  so  frequent  under  the  Eestoration, 
it  was  with  a  mind  uneasy  as  to  the  future  of  a  man  endowed 
with  the  most  brilliant  qualities. 

Emile  Blondet  found  support  in  a  friendship  with  a  Mile, 
de  Troisville,  whom  he  had  known  before  her  marriage  with 
the  Comte  de  Montcornet.  His  mother  was  living  when  the 
Troisvilles  came  back  after  the  emigration;  she  was  related 
to  the  family,  distantly  it  is  true,  but  the  connection  was 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  267 

close  enough  to  allow  her  to  introduce  Emile  to  the  house. 
She,  poor  woman,  foresaw  the  future.  She  knew  that  when 
she  died  her  son  would  lose  both  mother  and  father,  a  thought 
which  made  death  doubly  bitter,  so  she  tried  to  interest  others 
in  him.  She  encouraged  the  liking  that  sprang  up  between 
fimile  and  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  house  of  Troisville ;  but 
while  the  liking  was  exceedingly  strong  on  the  young  lady's 
part,  a  marriage  was  out  of  the  question.  It  was  a  romance 
on  the  pattern  of  Paul  et  Virginie.  Mme.  Blondet  did  what 
she  could  to  teach  her  son  to  look  to  the  Troisvilles,  to  found 
a  lasting  attachment  on  a  children's  game  of  "make-believe" 
love,  which  was  bound  to  end  as  boy-and-girl  romances  usually 
do.  When  Mile,  de  Troisville's  marriage  with  General  Mont- 
cornet  was  announced,  Mme.  Blondet,  a  dying  woman,  went  to 
the  bride  and  solemnly  implored  her  never  to  abandon  Emile, 
and  to  use  her  influence  for  him  in  society  in  Paris,  whither 
the  General's  fortune  summoned  her  to  shine. 

Luckily  for  Emile,  he  was  able  to  make  his  own  way.  He 
made  his  appearance,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  as  one  of  the 
masters  of  modern  literature ;  and  met  with  no  less  success  in 
the  society  into  which  he  was  launched  by  the  father  who  at 
first  could  afford  to  bear  the  expense  of  the  young  man's  ex- 
travagance. Perhaps  Smile's  precocious  celebrity  and  the 
good  figure  that  he  made  strengthened  the  bonds  of  his  friend- 
ship with  the  Countess.  Perhaps  Mme.  de  Montcornet,  with 
the  Russian  blood  in  her  veins  (her  mother  was  the  daughter 
of  the  Princess  Scherbelloff),  might  have  cast  off  the  friend  of 
her  childhood  if  he  had  been  a  poor  man  struggling  with  all 
his  might  among  the  difficulties  which  beset  a  man  of  letters 
in  Paris ;  'but  by  the  time  that  the  real  strain  of  Emile's  ad- 
venturous life  began,  their  attachment  was  unalterable  on 
either  side.  He  was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  leading  lights 
of  journalism  when  young  d'Esgrignon  met  him  at  his  first 
supper-party  in  Paris ;  his  acknowledged  position  in  the  world 
of  letters  was  very  high,  and  he  towered  above  his  reputation. 
Goodman  Blondet  had  not  the  faintest  conception  of  the 
power  which  the  Constitutional  Government  had  given  to  the 


268  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

press;  nobody  ventured  to  talk  in  his  presence  of  the  son  of 
whom  he  refiised  to  hear.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  Emile  whom  he  had  cursed  and  Emile's  great- 
ness. 

Old  Blondet's  integrity  was  as  deeply  rooted  in  him  as  his 
passion  for  flowers ;  he  knew  nothing  but  law  and  botany.  He 
would  have  interviews  with  litigants,  listen  to  them,  chat 
with  them,  and  show  them  his  flowers;  he  would  accept 
rare  seeds  from  them;  but  once  on  the  bench,  no  judge 
on  earth  was  more  impartial.  Indeed,  his  manner  of 
proceeding  was  so  well  known,  that  litigants  never  went 
near  him  except  to  hand  over  some  document  which 
might  enlighten  him  in  the  performance  of  his  duty, 
and  nobody  tried  to  throw  dust  in  his  eyes.  With  his 
learning,  his  lights,  and  his  way  of  holding  his  real  talents 
cheap,  he  was  so  indispensable  to  President  du  Eonceret,  that, 
matrimonial  schemes  apart,  that  functionary  would  have  done 
all  that  he  could,  in  an  underhand  way,  to  prevent  the  vice- 
president  from  retiring  in  favor  of  his  son.  If  the  learned 
old  man  left  the  bench,  the  President  would  be  utterly  unable 
to  do  without  him. 

Goodman  Blondet  did  not  know  that  it  was  in  Emmie's 
power  to  fulfil  all  his  wishes  in  a  few  hours.  The  simplicity 
of  his  life  was  worthy  of  one  of  Plutarch's  men.  In  the  even- 
ing he  looked  over  his  cases ;  next  morning  he  worked  among 
his  flowers ;  and  all  day  long  he  gave  decisions  on  the  bench. 
The  pretty  maid-servant,  now  of  ripe  age,  and  wrinkled  like 
an  Easter  pippin,  looked  after  the  house,  and  they  lived  ac- 
cording to  the  established  'customs  of  the  strictest  parsimony. 
Mile.  Cadot  always  carried  the  keys  of  her  cupboards  and 
fruit-loft  about  with  her.  She  was  indefatigable.  She  went  to 
market  herself,  she  cooked  and  dusted  and  swept,  and  never 
missed  mass  of  a  morning.  To  give  some  idea  of  the  domestic 
life  of  the  household,  it  will  be  enough  to  remark  that  the 
father  and  son  never  ate  fruit  till  it  was  beginning  to  spoil, 
because  Mile.  Cadot  always  brought  out  anything  that  would 
not  keep.  No  one  in  the  house  ever  tasted  the  luxury  of  new 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  209 

bread,  and  all  the  fast  days  in  the  calendar  were  punctually 
observed.  The  gardener  was  put  on  rations  like  a  soldier ;  the 
elderly  Valideh  always  kept  an  eye  upon  him.  And  she,  for 
her  part,  was  so  deferentially  treated,  that  she  took  her  meals 
with  the  family,  and  in  consequence  was  continually  trotting 
to  and  fro  between  the  kitchen  and  the  parlor  at  breakfast 
and  dinner  time. 

Mile.  Blandureau's  parents  had  consented  to  her  marriage 
with  Joseph  Blondet  upon  one  condition — the  penniless  and 
briefless  barrister  must  be  an  assistant  judge.  So,  with  the 
desire  of  fitting  his  son  to  fill  the  position,  old  M.  Blondet 
racked  his  brains  to  hammer  the  law  into  his  son's  head  by 
dint  of  lessons,  so  as  to  make  a  cut-and-dried  lawyer  of  him. 
As  for  Blondet  junior,  he  spent  almost  every  evening  at  the 
Blandureaus'  house,  to  which  also  young  Fabien  du  Eonceret 
had  been  admitted  since  his  return,  without  raising  the 
slightest  suspicion  in  the  minds  of  father  or  son. 

Everything  in  this  life  of  theirs  was  measured  with  an  ac- 
curacy worthy  of  Gerard  Dow's Money  Changer; not  a  grain  of 
salt  too  much, not  a  single  profit  foregone; but  the  economical 
principles  by  which  it  was  regulated  were  relaxed  in  favor  of 
the  greenhouse  and  garden.  "The  garden  was  the  master's 
craze,"  Mile.  Cadot  used  to  say  The  master's  blind  fondness 
for  Joseph  was  not  a  craze  in  her  eyes ;  she  shared  the  father's 
predilection ;  she  pampered  Joseph ;  she  darned  his  stockings ; 
and  would  have  been  better  pleased  if  the  money  spent  on  the 
garden  had  been  put  by  for  Joseph's  benefit. 

That  garden  was  kept  in  marvelous  order  by  a  single  man ; 
the  paths,  covered  with  river-sand,  continually  turned  over 
with  the  rake,  meandered  among  the  borders  full  of  the  rarest 
flowers.  Here  were  all  kinds  of  color  and  scent,  here  were 
lizards  on  the  walls,  legions  of  little  flower-pots  standing  out 
in  the  sun,  regiments  of  forks  and  hoes,  and  a  host  of  innocent 
things,  a  combination  of  pleasant  results  to  justify  the 
gardener's  charming  hobby. 

At  the  end  of  the  greenhouse  the  judge  had  set  up  a  grand- 
stand, an  amphitheatre  of  benches  to  hold  some  five  or  six 


270  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

thousand  pelargoniums  in  pots — a  splendid  and  famous  show. 
People  came  to  see  his  geraniums  in  flower,  not  only  from 
the  neighborhood,  but  even  from  the  departments  round 
about.  The  Empress  Marie  Louise,  passing  through  the  town, 
had  honored  the  curiously  kept  greenhouse  with  a  visit;  so 
much  was  she  impressed  with  the  sight,  that  she  spoke  of  it 
to  Napoleon,  and  the  old  judge  received  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  But  as  the  learned  gardener  never  mingled 
in  society  at  all,  and  went  nowhere  except  to  the  Blandureaus, 
he  had  no  suspicion  of  the  President's  underhand  manoeuvres ; 
and  others  who  could  see  the  President's  intentions  were  far 
too  much  afraid  of  him  to  interfere  or  to  warn  the  inoffensive 
Blondets. 

As  for  Michu,  that  young  man  with  his  powerful  connec- 
tions gave  much  more  thought  to  making  himself  agreeable 
to  the  women  in  the  upper  social  circles  to  which  he  was  in- 
troduced by  the  Cinq-Cygnes,  than  to  the  extremely  simple 
business  of  a  provincial  Tribunal.  With  his  independent 
means  (he  had  an  income  of  twelve  thousand  livres),  he  was 
courted  by  mothers  of  daughters,  and  led  a  frivolous  life. 
He  did  just  enough  at  the  Tribunal  to  satisfy  his  conscience, 
much  as  a  schoolboy  does  his  exercises,  saying  ditto  on  all 
occasions,  with  a  "Yes,  dear  President."  But  underneath  the 
appearance  of  indifference  lurked  the  unusual  powers  of  the 
Paris  law  student  who  had  distinguished  himself  as  one  of 
the  staff  of  prosecuting  counsel  before  he  came  to  the  prov- 
inces. He  was  accustomed  to  taking  broad  views  of  things; 
he  could  do  rapidly  what  the  President  and  Blondet  could 
only  do  after  much  thinking,  and  very  often  solved  knotty 
points  for  them.  In  delicate  conjunctures  the  President  and 
Vice-President  took  counsel  with  their  junior,  confided  thorny 
questions  to  him,  and  never  failed  to  wonder  at  the  readiness 
with  which  he  brought  back  a  task  in  which  old  Blondei  found 
nothing  to  criticise.  Michu  was  sure  of  the  influence  of  the 
most  crabbed  aristocrats,  and  he  was  young  and  rich;  he 
lived,  therefore,  above  the  level  of  departmental  intrigues 
and  pettinesses.  He  was  an  indispensable  man  at  picnics, 


JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN     271 

he  frisked  with  young  ladies  and  paid  court  to  their  mothers, 
he  danced  at  balls,  he  gambled  like  a  capitalist.  In  short, 
he  played  his  part  of  young  lawyer  of  fashion  to  admiration ; 
without,  at  the  same  time,  compromising  his  dignity,  which 
he  knew  how  to  assert  at  the  right  moment  like  a  man  of 
spirit.  He  won  golden  opinions  by  the  manner  in  which  he 
threw  himself  into  provincial  ways,  without  criticising  them ; 
and  for  these  reasons,  every  one  endeavored  to  make  his  time 
of  exile  endurable. 

The  public  prosecutor  was  a  lawyer  of  the  highest  ability; 
he  had  taken  the  plunge  into  political  life,  and  was  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  speakers  on  the  ministerialist  benches. 
The  President  stood  in  awe  of  him ;  if  he  had  not  been  away 
in  Paris  at  the  time,  no  steps  would  have  been  taken  against 
Yicturnien;  his  dexterity,  his  experience  of  business,  would 
have  prevented  the  whole  affair.  At  that  moment,  however, 
he  was  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  the  President  and 
du  Croisier  had  taken  advantage  of  his  absence  to  weave  their 
plot,  calculating,  with  a  certain  ingenuity,  that  if  once  the 
law  stepped  in,  and  the  matter  was  noised  abroad,  things 
would  have  gone  too  far  to  be  remedied. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  staff  of  prosecuting  counsel  in  any 
Tribunal,  at  that  particular  time,  would  have  taken  up  a 
charge  of  forgery  against  the  eldest  son  of  one  of  the  noblest 
houses  in  France  without  going  into  the  case  at  great  length, 
and  a  special  reference,  in  all  probability,  to  the  Attorney- 
General.  In  such  a  case  as  this,  the  authorities  and  the 
Government  would  have  tried  endless  ways  of  compromising 
and  hushing  up  an  affair  which  might  send  an  imprudent 
young  man  to  the  hulks.  They  would  very  likely  have  done 
the  same  for  a  Liberal  family  in  a  prominent  position,  so  long 
as  the  Liberals  were  not  too  openly  hostile  to  the  throne  and 
the  altar.  So  du  Croisier's  charge  and  the  young  Count's 
arrest  had  not  been  very  easy  to  manage.  The  President  and 
du  Croisier  had  compassed  their  ends  in  the  following  man- 
ner. 

M.  Sauvager,  a  young  Royalist  barrister,  had  reached  the 
VOL.  7 — 40 


272  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

position  of  deputy  public  prosecutor  by  dint  of  subservience 
to  the  Ministry.  In  the  absence  of  his  chief  he  was  head  of 
the  staff  of  counsel  for  prosecution,  and,  consequently,  it  fell 
to  him  to  take  up  the  charge  made  by  du  Croisier.  Sauvager 
was  a  self-made  man;  he  had  nothing  but  his  stipend;  and 
for  that  reason  the  authorities  reckoned  upon  some  one  who 
had  everything  to  gain  by  devotion.  The  President  now 
expoited  the  position.  No  sooner  was  the  document  with  the 
alleged  forgery  in  du  Croisier's  hands,  than  Mme.  la  Presi- 
dente  du  Eonceret,  prompted  by  her  spouse,  had  a  long  con- 
versation with  M.  Sauvager.  In  the  course  of  it  she  pointed 
out  the  uncertainties  of  a  career  in  the  magistrature  deb  out 
compared  with  the  magistrature  assise,  and  the  advantages  of 
the  bench  over  the  bar;  she  showed  how  a  freak  on  the  part 
of  some  official,  or  a  single  false  step,  might  ruin  a  man's 
career. 

"If  you  are  conscientious  and  give  your  conclusions  against 
the  powers  that  be,  you  are  lost/'  continued  she.  "Now,  at 
this  moment,  you  might  turn  your  position  to  account  to 
make  a  fine  match  that  would  put  you  above  unlucky  chances 
for  the  rest  of  your  life ;  you  may  marry  a  wife  with  fortune 
sufficient  to  land  you  on  the  bench,  in  the  magistrature  assise. 
There  is  a  fine  chance  for  you.  M.  du  Croisier  will  never 
have  any  children;  everybody  knows  why.  His  money,  and 
his  wife's  as  well,  will  go  to  his  niece,  Mile.  Duval.  M.  Duval 
is  an  ironmaster,  his  purse  is  tolerably  filled,  to  begin  with, 
and  his  father  is  still  alive,  and  has  a  little  property  besides. 
The  father  and  son  have  a  million  of  francs  between  them; 
they  will  double  it  with  du  Croisier's  help,  for  du  Croisier 
has  business  connections  among  great  capitalists  and 
manufacturers  in  Paris.  M.  and  Mme.  Duval  the  younger 
would  be  certain  to  give  their  daughter  to  a  suitor  brought 
forward  by  du  Croisier,  for  he  is  sure  to  leave  two  fortunes 
to  his  niece;  and,  in  all  probability,  he  will  settle  the  rever- 
sion of  his  wife's  property  upon  Mile.  Duval  in  the  marriage- 
contract,  for  Mme.  du  Croisier  has  no  kin.  You  know  how 
du  Croisier  hates  the  d'Esgrignons.  Do  him  a  service,  be  his 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  273 

man,  take  up  this  charge  of  forgery  which  he  is  going  to  make 
against  young  d'Esgrignon,  and  follow  up  the  proceedings  at 
once  without  consulting  the  public  prosecutor  at  Paris.  And, 
then,  pray  Heaven  that  the  Ministry  dismisses  you  for  doing 
your  office  impartially,  in  spite  of  the  powers  that  be ;  for  if 
they  do,  your  fortune  is  made!  You  will  have  a  charming 
wife  and  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year  with  her,  to  say 
nothing  of  four  millions  of  expectations  in  ten  years'  time." 

In  two  evenings  Sauvager  was  talked  over.  Both  he  and 
the  President  kept  the  affair  a  secret  from  old  Blondet,  from 
Michu,  and  from  the  second  member  of  the  staff  of  prosecut- 
ing counsel.  Feeling  sure  of  Blondet's  impartiality  on  a 
question  of  fact,  the  President  made  certain  of  a  majority 
withoutcountingCamusot.  And  now  Camusot's  unexpected  de- 
fection had  thrown  everything  out.  What  the  President 
wanted  was  a  committal  for  trial  before  the  public  prosecutor 
got  warning.  How  if  Camusot  or  the  second  counsel  for  the 
prosecution  should  send  word  to  Paris  ? 

And  here  some  portion  of  Camusot's  private  history  may 
perhaps  explain  how  it  came  to  pass  that  Chesnel  took  it  for 
granted  that  the  examining  magistrate  would  be  on  the 
d'Esgrignons'  side,  and  how  he  had  the  boldness  to  tamper  in 
the  open  street  with  that  representative  of  justice. 

Camusot's  father,  a  well-known  silk  mercer  in  the  Rue  des 
Bourdonnais,  was  ambitious  for  the  only  son  of  his  first 
marriage,  and  brought  him  up  to  the  law.  When  Camusot 
junior  took  a  wife,  he  gained  with  her  the  influence  of  an 
usher  of  the  Royal  cabinet,  backstairs  influence,  it  is  true,  but 
still  sufficient,  since  it  had  brought  him  his  first  appointment 
as  justice  of  the  peace,  and  the  second  as  examining  magis- 
trate. At  the  time  of  his  marriage,  his  father  only  settled 
an  income  of  six  thousand  francs  upon  him  (the  amount  of  his 
mother's  fortune,  which  he  could  legally  claim),  and  as  Mile. 
Thirion  brought  him  no  more  than  twenty  thousand  francs 
as  her  portion,  the  young  couple  knew  the  hardships  of  hidden 
poverty.  The  salary  of  a  provincial  justice  of  the  peace 
does  not  exceed  fifteen  hundred  francs,  while  an  examining 


274 

magistrate's  stipend  is  augmented  by  something  like  a  thou- 
sand francs,  because  his  position  entails  expenses  and  extra 
work.  The  post,  therefore,  is  much  coveted,  though  it  is  not 
permanent,  and  the  work  is  heavy,  and  that  was  why 
Mme.  Camusot  had  just  scolded  her  husband  for  allowing  the 
President  to  read  his  thoughts. 

Marie  Cecile  Amelie  Thirion,  after  three  years  of  marriage, 
perceived  the  blessing  of  Heaven  upon  it  in  the  regularity  of 
two  auspicious  events — the  births  of  a  girl  and  a  boy;  but 
she  prayed  to  be  less  blessed  in  future.  A  few  more  of 
such  blessings  would  turn  straitened  means  into  distress.  M. 
Camusot's  father's  money  was  not  likely  to  come  to  them  for  a 
long  time;  and,  rich  as  he  was,  he  would  scarcely  leave  more 
than  eight  or  ten  thousand  francs  a  year  to  each  of  his 
children,  four  in  number,  for  he  had  been  married  twice. 
And  besides,  by  the  time  that  all  "expectations,"  as  match- 
makers call  them,  were  realized,  would  not  the  magistrate  have 
children  of  his  own  to  settle  in  life?  Any  one  can  imagine 
the  situation  for  a  little  woman  with  plenty  of  sense  and  de- 
termination, and  Mme.  Camusot  was  such  a  woman.  She  did 
not  refrain  from  meddling  in  matters  judicial.  She  had  far 
too  strong  a  sense  of  the  gravity  of  a  false  step  in  her  hus- 
band's career. 

She  was  the  only  child  of  an  old  servant  of  Louis  XVIII., 
a  valet  who  had  followed  his  master  in  his  wanderings  in 
Italy,  Courland,  and  England,  till  after  the  Eestoration  the 
King  rewarded  him  with  the  one  place  that  he  could  fill  at 
Court,  and  made  him  usher  by  rotation  to  the  royal  cabinet. 
So  in  Amelie's  home  there  had  been,  as  it  were,  a  sort  of 
reflection  of  the  Court.  Thirion  used  to  tell  her  about  the 
lords,  and  ministers,  and  great  men  whom  he  announced  and 
introduced  and  saw  passing  to  and  fro  The  girl,  brought  up 
at  the  gates  of  the  Tuileries,  had  caught  some  tincture  of  the 
maxims  practised  there,  and  adopted  the  dogma  of  passive 
obedience  to  authority  She  had  sagely  judged  that  her  hus- 
band, by  ranging  himself  on  the  side  of  the  d'Esgrignons, 
would  find  favor  with  Mme.  la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse, 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  275 

and  with  two  powerful  families  on  whose  influence  with  the 
King  the  Sieur  Thirion  could  depend  at  an  opportune 
moment.  Camusot  might  get  an  appointment  at  the  first  op- 
portunity within  the  jurisdiction  of  Paris,  and  afterwards 
at  Paris  itself.  That  promotion,  dreamed  of  and  longed  for 
at  every  moment,  was  certain  to  have  a  salary  of  six  thousand 
francs  attached  to  it,  as  well  as  the  alleviation  of  living  in  her 
own  father's  house,  or  under  the  Camusots'  roof,  and  all  the 
advantages  of  a  father's  fortune  on  either  side.  If  the  adage, 
"Out  of  sight  is  out  of  mind,"  holds  good  of  most  women,  it 
is  particularly  true  where  family  feeling  or  royal  or  min- 
isterial patronage  is  concerned.  The  personal  attendants  of 
kings  prosper  at  all  times ;  you  take  an  interest  in  a  man,  be  it 
only  a  man  in  livery,  if  you  see  him  every  day. 

Mme.  Camusot,  regarding  herself  as  a  bird  of  passage,  had 
taken  a  little  house  in  the  Rue  du  Cygne.  Furnished 
lodgings  there  were  none;  the  town  was  not  enough  of  a 
thoroughfare,  and  the  Camusots  could  not  afford  to  live  at 
an  inn  like  M.  Michu.  So  the  fair  Parisian  had  no  choice  for 
it  but  to  take  such  furniture  as  she  could  find ;  and  as  she  paid 
a  very  moderate  rent,  the  house  was  remarkably  ugly,  albeit 
a  certain  quaintness  of  detail  was  not  wanting.  It  was  built 
against  a  neighboring  house  in  such  a  fashion  that  the  side, 
with  only  one  window  in  each  story,  gave  upon  the  street,  and 
the  front  looked  out  upon  a  yard  where  rose-bushes  and  buck- 
horn  were  growing  along  the  wall  on  either  side.  On  the 
farther  side,  opposite  the  house,  stood  a  shed,  a  roof  over  two 
brick  arches.  A  little  wicket-gate  gave  entrance  into  the 
gloomy  place  (made  gloomier  still  by  the  great  walnut-tree 
which  grew  in  the  yard),  and  a  double  flight  of  steps,  with  an 
elaborately-wrought  but  rust-eaten  handrail,  led  to  the  house 
door.  Inside  the  house  there  were  two  rooms  on  each  floor. 
The  dining-room  occupied  that  part  of  the  ground  floor  near- 
est the  street,  and  the  kitchen  lay  on  the  other  side  of  a  nar- 
row passage  almost  wholly  taken  up  by  the  wooden  staircase. 
Of  the  two  first-floor  rooms,  one  did  duty  as  the  magistrate's 
study,  the  other  as  a  bedroom,  while  the  nursery  and  the 


27«     THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

servants'  bedroom  stood  above  in  the  attics.  There  were  no 
ceilings  in  the  house;  the  cross-beams  were  simply  white- 
washed  and  the  spaces  plastered  over.  Both  rooms  on  the 
first  floor  and  the  dining-room  below  were  wainscoted  and 
adorned  with  the  labyrinthine  designs  which  taxed  the 
patience  of  the  eighteenth  century  joiner;  but  the  carving 
had  been  painted  a  dingy  gray  most  depressing  to  behold. 

The  magistrate's  study  looked  as  though  it  belonged  to  a 
provincial  lawyer;  it  contained  a  big  bureau,  a  mahogany 
armchair,  a  law  student's  books,  and  shabby  belongings  trans- 
ported from  Paris.  Mme.  Camusoirs  room  was  more  of  a 
native  product ;  it  boasted  a  blue-and- white  scheme  of  decora- 
tion, a  carpet,  and  that  anomalous  kind  of  furniture  which 
appears  to  be  in  the  fashion,  while  it  is  simply  some  style  that 
has  failed  in  Paris.  As  to  the  dining-room,  it  was  nothing 
but  an  ordinary  provincial  dining-room,  bare  and  chilly,  with 
a  damp,  faded  paper  on  the  walls. 

In  this  shabby  room,  with  nothing  to  see  but  the  walnut- 
tree,  the  dark  leaves  growing  against  the  walls,  and  the  almost 
deserted  road  beyond  them,  a  somewhat  lively  and  frivolous 
woman,  accustomed  to  the  amusements  and  stir  of  Paris,  used 
to  sit  all  day  long,  day  after  day,  and  for  the  most  part  of 
the  time  alone,  though  she  received  tiresome  and  inane  visits 
which  led  her  to  think  her  loneliness  preferable  to  empty 
tittle-tattle.  If  she  permitted  herself  the  slightest  gleam  of 
intelligence,  it  gave  rise  to  interminable  comment  and  em- 
bittered her  condition.  She  occupied  herself  a  great  deal  with 
her  children,  not  so  much  from  taste  as  for  the  sake  of  an  in- 
terest in  her  almost  solitary  life,  and  exercised  her  mind  on  the 
only  subjects  which  she  could  find— to  wit,  the  intrigues  which 
went  on  around  her,  the  ways  of  provincials,  and  the  ambi- 
tions shut  in  by  their  narrow  horizons.  So  she  very  soon 
fathomed  mysteries  of  which  her  husband  had  no  idea.  As 
she  sat  at  her  window  with  a  piece  of  intermittent  embroidery 
work  in  her  fingers,  she  did  not  see  her  woodshed  full  of 
faggots  nor  the  servant  busy  at  the  wash  tub ;  she  was  looking 
out  upon  Paris,  Paris  where  everything  is  pleasure,  every- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  27T 

thing  is  full  of  life.  She  dreamed  of  Paris  gaieties,  and  shed 
tears  because  she  must  abide  in  this  dull  prison  of  a  country 
town.  She  was  disconsolate  because  she  lived  in  a  peaceful 
district,  where  no  conspiracy,  no  great  affair  would  eves  occur. 
She  saw  herself  doomed  to  sit  under  the  shadow  of  the  walnut- 
tree  for  some  time  to  come. 

Mme.  Camusot  was  a  little,  plump,  fresh,  fair-haired  wo- 
man, with  a  very  prominent  forehead,  a  mouth  which  receded, 
and  a  turned-up  chin,  a  type  of  countenance  which  is  passable 
in  youth,  but  looks  old  before  the  trine.  Her  bright,  quick 
eyes  expressed  her  innocent  desire  to  get  on  in  the  world, 
and  the  envy  born  of  her  present  inferior  position,  with  rather 
too  much  candor;  but  still  they  lighted  up  her  commonplace 
face  and  set  if  off  with  a  certain  energy  of  feeling,  which  suc- 
cess was  certain  to  extinguish  in  later  life.  At  that  time  she 
used  to  give  a  good  deal  of  time  and  thought  to  her  dresses, 
inventing  trimmings  and  embroidering  them ;  she  planned  out 
her  costumes  with  the  maid  whom  she  had  brought  with  her 
from  Paris,  and  so  maintained  the  reputation  of  Parisiennes 
in  the  provinces.  Her  caustic  tongue  was  dreaded;  she  was 
not  beloved.  In  that  keen,  investigating  spirit  peculiar  to 
unoccupied  women  who  are  driven  to  find  some  occupation 
for  empty  days,  she  had  pondered  the  President's  private  opin- 
ions, until  at  length  she  discovered  what  he  meant  to  do,  and 
for  some  time  past  she  had  advised  Camusot  to  declare  war. 
The  young  Count's  affair  was  an  excellent  opportunity.  Was 
it  not  obviously  Camusot's  part  to  make  a  stepping-stone  of 
this  criminal  case  by  favoring  the  d'Esgrignons,  a  family  with 
power  of  a  very  different  kind  from  the  power  of  the  du 
Croisier  party? 

"Sauvager  will  never  marry  Mile.  Duval.  They  are  dan- 
gling her  before  him,  but  he  will  be  the  dupe  of  those 
Machiavels  in  the  Val-Noble  to  whom  he  is  going  to  sacrifice 
his  position.  Camusot,  this  affair,  so  unfortunate  as  it  is 
for  the  d'Esgrignons,  so  insidiously  brought  on  by  the  Presi- 
dent for  du  Croisier's  benefit,  will  turn  out  well  for  nobody 
but  you,"  she  had  said,  as  they  went  in. 


278  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

The  shrewd  Parisienne  had  likewise  guessed  the  Presi- 
dent's underhand  manoeuvres  with  the  Blandureaus,  and  his 
object  in  baffling  old  Blondet's  efforts,  but  she  saw  nothing  to 
be  gained  by  opening  the  eyes  of  father  or  son  to  the  perils  of 
the  situation ;  she  was  enjoying  the  beginning  of  the  comedy ; 
she  knew  about  the  proposals  made  by  Chesnel's  successor  on 
behalf  of  Fabien  du  Eonceret,  but  she  did  not  suspect  how  im- 
portant that  secret  might  be  to  her.  If  she  or  her  husband 
were  threatened  by  the  President,  Mme.  Camusot  could 
threaten  too,  in  her  turn,  to  call  the  amateur  gardener's  at- 
tention to  a  scheme  for  carrying  off  the  flower  which  he  meant 
to  transplant  into  his  house. 

Chesnel  had  not  penetrated,  like  Mme.  Camusot,  into  the 
means  by  which  Sauvager  had  been  won  over ;  but  by  dint  of 
looking  into  the  various  lives  and  interests  of  the  men 
grouped  about  the  Lilies  of  the  Tribunal,  he  knew  that  he 
could  count  upon  the  public  prosecutor,  upon  Camusot,  and 
M.  Michu.  Two  judges  for  the  d'Esgrignons  would  paralyze 
the  rest.  And,  finally,  Chesnel  knew  old  Blondet  well  enough 
to  feel  sure  that  if  he  ever  swerved  from  impartiality,  it  would 
be  for  the  sake  of  the  work  of  his  whole  lifetime, — to  secure 
his  son's  appointment.  So  Chesnel  slept,  full  of  confidence, 
on  the  resolve  to  go  to  M.  Blondet  and  offer  to  realize  his  so 
long  cherished  hopes,  while  he  opened  his  eyes  to  President 
du  Eonceret's  treachery.  Blondet  won  over,  he  would  take  a 
peremptory  tone  with  the  examining  magistrate,  to  whom 
he  hoped  to  prove  that  if  Victurnien  was  not  blameless,  he 
had  been  merely  imprudent ;  the  whole  thing  should  be  shown 
in  the  light  of  a  boy's  thoughtless  escapade. 

But  Chesnel  slept  neither  soundly  nor  for  long.  Before 
dawn  he  was  awakened  by  his  housekeeper.  The  most  be- 
witching person  in  this  history,  the  most  adorable  youth  on 
the  face  of  the  globe,  Mme.  la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  her- 
self, in  man's  attire,  had  driven  alone  from  Paris  in  a  caleche, 
and  was  waiting  to  see  him. 

"I  have  come  to  save  him  or  to  die  with  him,"  said  she, 
addressing  the  notary,  who  thought  that  he  was  dreaming. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  279 

"I  have  brought  a  hundred  thousand  francs,  given  me  by 
His  Majesty  out  of  his  private  purse,  to  buy  Victurnien's  in- 
nocence, if  his  adversary  can  be  bribed.  If  we  fail  utterly, 
I  have  brought  poison  to  snatch  him  away  before  anything 
takes  place,  before  even  the  indictment  is  drawn  up.  But 
we  shall  not  fail.  I  have  sent  word  to  the  public  prosecutor ; 
he  is  on  the  road  behind  me;  he  could  not  travel  in  my 
caleche,  because  he  wished  to  take  the  instructions  of  the 
Keeper  of  the  Seals." 

Chesnel  rose  to  the  occasion  and  played  up  to  the  Duchess ; 
he  wrapped  himself  in  his  dressing-gown,  fell  at  her  feet  and 
kissed  them,  not  without  asking  her  pardon  for  forgetting 
himself  in  his  joy. 

"We  are  saved!"  cried  he;  and  gave  orders  to  Brigitte  to 
see  that  Mme.  la  Duchesse  had  all  that  she  needed  after  travel- 
ing post  all  night.  He  appealed  to  the  fair  Diane's  spirit, 
by  making  her  see  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  she 
should  visit  the  examining  magistrate  before  daylight,  lest 
any  one  should  discover  the  secret,  or  so  much  as  imagine  that 
the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  had  come. 

"And  have  I  not  a  passport  in  due  form?"  quoth  she,  dis- 
playing a  sheet  of  paper,  wherein  she  was  described  as  M.  le 
Vicomte  Felix  de  Vandenesse,  Master  of  Eequests,  and  His 
Majesty's  private  secretary.  "And  do  I  not  play  my  man's 
part  well?"  she  added,  running  her  fingers  through  her  wig 
a  la  Titus,  and  twirling  her  riding  switch. 

"0 !  Mme.  la  Duchesse,  you  are  an  angel !"  cried  Chesnel, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes.  (She  was  destined  always  to  be  an 
angel,  even  in  man's  attire.)  "Button  up  your  greatcoat, 
muffle  yourself  up  to  the  eyes  in  your  traveling  cloak,  take 
my  arm,  and  let  us  go  as  quickly  as  possible  to  Camusot's 
house  before  anybody  can  meet  us." 

"Then  am  I  going  to  see  a  man  called  Camusot?"  she 
asked. 

"With  a  nose  to  match  his  name,"*  assented  Chesnel. 

The  old  notary  felt  his  heart  dead  within  him,  but  he 

*  Camus,  flat-nosed 


280  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

thought  it  none  the  less  necessary  to  humor  the  Duchess,  to 
laugh  when  she  laughed,,  and  shed  tears  when  she  wept; 
groaning  in  spirit,  all  the  same,  over  the  feminine  frivolity 
which  could  find  matter  for  a  jest  while  setting  about  a 
matter  so  serious.  What  would  he  not  have  done  to  save 
the  Count?  While  Chesnel  dressed,  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse 
sipped  the  cup  of  coffee  and  cream  which  Brigitte  brought 
her,  and  agreed  with  herself  that  provincial  women  cooks  are 
superior  to  the  Parisian  chefs,  who  despise  the  little  details 
which  make  all  the  difference  to  an  epicure.  Thanks  to 
Chesnel's  taste  for  delicate  fare,  Brigitte  was  found  prepared 
to  set  an  excellent  meal  before  the  Duchess. 

Chesnel  and  his  charming  companion  set  out  for  M.  and 
Mme.  Camusot's  house. 

"Ah !  so  there  is  a  Mme.  Camusot  ("  said  the  Duchess. 
"Then  the  affair  may  be  managed/' 

"And  so  much  the  more  readily,  because  the  lady  is  visibly 
tired  enough  of  living  among  us  provincials ;  she  comes  from 
Paris,"  said  Chesnel. 

"Then  we  must  have  no  secrets  from  her?" 

"You  will  judge  how  much  to  tell  or  to  conceal,"  Chesnel 
replied  humbly.  "I  am  sure  that  she  will  be  greatly  flattered 
to  be  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse's  hostess;  you  will  be 
obliged  to  stay  in  her  house  until  nightfall,  I  expect,  unless 
you  find  it  inconvenient  to  remain." 

"Is  this  Mme.  Camusot  a  good-looking  woman  ?"  asked  the 
Duchess,  with  a  coxcomb's  air. 

"She  is  a  bit  of  a  queen  in  her  own  house." 

"Then  she  is  sure  to  meddle  in  court-house  affairs,"  re- 
turned the  Duchess.  "Nowhere  but  in  France,  my  dear  M. 
Chesnel,  do  you  see  women  so  much  wedded  to  their  husbands 
that  they  are  wedded  to  their  husbands'  professions,  work,  or 
business  as  well.  In  Italy,  England,  and  Germany,  women 
make  it  a  point  of  honor  to  leave  men  to  fight  their  own 
battles;  they  shut  their  eyes  to  their  husbands'  work  as 
perseveringly  as  our  French  citizens'  wives  do  all  that  in  them 
lies  to  understand  the  position  of  their  joint-stock  partner- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  281 

ship;  is  not  that  what  you  call  it  in  your  legal  language? 
Frenchwomen  are  so  incredibly  jealous  in  the  conduct  of  their 
married  life,  that  they  insist  on  knowing  everything ;  and  that 
is  how,  in  the  least  difficulty,  you  feel  the  wife's  hand  in  the 
business;  the  Frenchwoman  advises,  guides,  and  warns  her 
husband.  And,  truth  to  tell,  the  man  is  none  the  worse  off. 
In  England,  if  a  married  man  is  put  in  prison  for  debt  for 
twenty-four  hours,  his  wife  will  be  jealous  and  make  a  scene 
when  he  comes  back." 

"Here  we  are,  without  meeting  a  soul  on  the  way,"  said 
Chesnel.  "You  are  the  more  sure  of  complete  ascendency 
here,  Mme.  la  Duchesse,  since  Mme.  Camusot's  father  is  one 
Thirion,  usher  of  the  royal  cabinet." 

"And  the  King  never  thought  of  that!"  exclaimed  the 
Duchess.  "He  thinks  of  nothing!  Thirion  introduced  us, 
the  Prince  de  Cadignan,  M.  de  Vandenesse,  and  me!  We 
shall  have  it  all  our  own  way  in  this  house.  Settle  everything 
with  M.  Camusot  while  I  talk  to  his  wife." 

The  maid,  who  was  washing  and  dressing  the  children, 
showed  the  visitors  into  the  little  fireless  dining-room. 

"Take  that  card  to  your  mistress,"  said  the  Duchess,  lower- 
ing her  voice  for  the  woman's  ear;  "nobody  else  is  to  see  it. 
If  you  are  discreet,  child,  you  shall  not  lose  by  it" 

At  the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice,  and  the  sight  of  the  hand- 
some young  man's  face,  the  maid  looked  thunderstruck. 

"Wake  M.  Camusot,"  said  Chesnel,  "and  tell  him,  that  I 
am  waiting  to  see  him  on  important  business,"  and  she  de- 
parted upstairs  forthwith. 

A  few  minutes  later  Mme.  Camusot,  in  her  dressing-gown, 
sprang  downstairs,  and  brought  the  handsome  stranger  into 
her  room.  She  had  pushed  Camusot  out  of  bed  and  into  his 
study  with  all  his  clothes,  bidding  him  dress  himself  at  once 
and  wait  there.  The  transformation  scene  had  been  brought 
about  by  a  bit  of  pasteboard  with  the  words  MADAME  LA 
DUCHESSE  DE  MAUFRIGNEUSE  engraved  upon  it.  A  daughter 
of  the  usher  of  the  royal  cabinet  took  in  the  whole  situation 
at  once. 


282  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"Well !"  exclaimed  the  maid-servant,  left  with  Chesnel  in 
the  dining-room,  "would  not  any  one  think  that  a  thunder- 
bolt had  dropped  in  among  us?  The  master  is  dressing  in 
his  study ;  you  can  go  upstairs." 

"Not  a  word  of  all  this,  mind,"  said  Chesnel. 

Now  that  he  was  conscious  of  the  support  of  a  great  lady 
who  had  the  King's  consent  (by  word  of  mouth)  to  the 
measures  about  to  be  taken  for  rescuing  the  Comte  d'Esgri- 
gnon,  he  spoke  with  an  air  of  authority,  which  served  his 
cause  much  better  with  Camusot  than  the  humility  with 
which  he  would  otherwise  have  approached  him. 

"Sir/'  said  he,  "the  words  let  fall  last  evening  may  have 
surprised  you,  but  they  are  serious.  The  house  of 
d'Esgrignon  counts  upon  you  for  the  proper  conduct  of  in- 
vestigations from  which  it  must  issue  without  a  spot." 

"I  shall  pass  over  anything  in  your  remarks,  sir,  which 
must  be  offensive  to  me  personally,  and  obnoxious  to  justice ; 
for  your  position  with  regard  to  the  d'Esgrignons  excuses  you 
up  to  a  certain  point,  but " 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  if  I  interrupt  you,"  said  Chesnel.  "I 
have  just  spoken  aloud  the  things  which  your  superiors  are 
thinking  and  dare  not  avow;  though  what  those  things  are 
any  intelligent  man  can  guess,  and  you  are  an  intelligent 
man. — Grant  that  the  young  man  had  acted  imprudently,  can 
you  suppose  that  the  sight  of  a  d'Esgrignon  dragged  into  an 
Assize  Court  can  be  gratifying  to  the  King,  the  Court,  or 
the  Ministry?  Is  it  to  the  interest  of  the  kingdom,  or  of 
the  country,  that  historic  houses  should  fall?  Is  not  the  ex- 
istence of  a  great  aristocracy,  consecrated  by  time,  a  guarantee 
of  that  Equality  which  is  the  catchword  of  the  Opposition 
at  this  moment  ?  Well  and  good ;  now  not  only  has  there  not 
been  the  slightest  imprudence,  but  we  are  innocent  victims 
caught  in  a  trap." 

"I  am  curious  to  know  how,"  said  the  examining  magis- 
trate. 

"For  the  last  two  years,  the  Sieur  du  Croisier  has  regularly 
allowed  M.  le  Comte  d'Esgrignon  to  draw  upon  him  for  very 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  283 

large  sums/'  said  Chesnel.  "We  are  going  to  produce  drafts 
for  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  crowns,  which  he  con- 
tinually met;  the  amounts  being  remitted  by  me — bear  that 
well  in  mind — either  before  or  after  the  bills  fell  due.  M.  le 
Comte  d'Esgrignon  is  in  a  position  to  produce  a  receipt  for 
the  sum  paid  by  him,  before  this  bill,  this  alleged  forgery, 
was  drawn.  Can  you  fail  to  see  in  that  case  that  this  charge 
is  a  piece  of  spite  and  party  feeling  ?  And  a  charge  brought 
against  the  heir  of  a  great  house  by  one  of  the  most  dangerous 
enemies  of  the  Throne  and  Altar,  what  is  it  but  an  odious 
slander  ?  There  has  been  no  more  forgery  in  this  affair  than 
there  has  been  in  my  office.  Summon  Mme.  du  Croisier,  who 
knows  nothing  as  yet  of  the  charge  of  forgery ;  she  will  declare 
to  you  that  I  brought  the  money  and  paid  it  over  to  her,  so 
that  in  her  husband's  absence  she  might  remit  the  amount 
for  which  he  has  not  asked  her.  Examine  du  Croisier  on 
the  point ;  he  will  tell  you  that  he  knows  nothing  of  my  pay- 
ment to  Mme.  du  Croisier." 

"You  may  make  such  assertions  as  these,  sir,  in  M.  d'Esgri- 
gnon's  salon,  or  in  any  other  house  where  people  know  noth- 
ing of  business,  and  they  may  be  believed ;  but  no  examining 
magistrate,  unless  he  is  a  driveling  idiot,  can  imagine  that 
a  woman  like  Mme.  du  Croisier,  so  submissive  as  she  is  to 
her  husband,  has  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  lying  in  her  desk 
at  this  moment,  without  saying  a  word  to  him ;  nor  yet  that 
an  old  notary  would  not  have  advised  M.  du  Croisier  of  the 
deposit  on  his  return  to  town." 

"The  old  notary,  sir,  had  gone  to  Paris  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
young  man's  extravagance." 

"I  have  not  yet  examined  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon,"  Camu- 
sot  began ;  "his  answers  will  point  out  my  duty." 

"Is  he  in  close  custody  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Sir,"  said  Chesnel,  seeing  danger  ahead,  "the  examina- 
tion can  be  made  in  our  .interests  or  against  them.  But  there 
are  two  courses  open  to  you:  you  can  establish  the  fact  on 
Mme.  du  Croisier's  deposition  that  the  amount  was  deposited 
with  her  before  the  bill  was  drawn;  or  you  can  examine 


284  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

the  unfortunate  young  man  implicated  in  this  affair,  and  he 
in  his  confusion  may  remember  nothing  and  commit  him- 
self. You  will  decide  which  is  the  more  credible — a  slip  of 
memory  on  the  part  of  a  woman  in  her  ignorance  of 
business,  or  a  forgery  committed  by  a  d'Esgrignon." 

"All  this  is  beside  the  point,"  began  Camusot;  "the  ques- 
tion is,  whether  M.  le  Comte  d'Esgrignon  has  or  has  not  used 
the  lower  half  of  a  letter  addressed  to  him  by  du  Croisier  as 
a  bill  of  exchange." 

"Eh !  and  so  he  might,"  a  voice  cried  suddenly,  as  Mme. 
Camusot  broke  in,  followed  by  the  handsome  stranger,  "so 
he  might,  when  M.  Chesnel  had  advanced  the  money  to  meet 
the  bill " 

She  leant  over  her  husband. 

"You  will  have  the  first  vacant  appointment  as  assistant 
judge  at  Paris,  you  are  serving  the  King  himself  in  this 
affair ;  I  have  proof  of  it ;  you  will  not  be  forgotten,"  she  said, 
lowering  her  voice  for  his  ear.  "This  young  man  that  you 
see  here  is  the  Duchesse  de  Mauf rigneuse ;  you  must  never 
have  seen  her,  and  do 'all  that  you  can  for  the  young  Count 
boldly." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Camusot,  "even  if  the  preliminary  ex- 
amination is  conducted  to  prove  the  young  Count's  innocence, 
can  I  answer  for  the  view  the  court  may  take  ?  M.  Chesnel, 
and  you  also,  my  sweet,  know  what  M.  le  President  wants." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut!"  said  Mme.  Camusot,  "go  yourself  to  M. 
Michu  this  morning,  and  tell  him  that  the  Count  has  been 
arrested;  you  will  be  two  against  two  in  that  case,  I  will  be 
bound.  Michu  comes  from  Paris,  and  you  know  that  he  is 
devoted  to  the  noblesse.  Good  blood  cannot  lie." 

At  that  very  moment  Mile.  Cadot's  voice  was  heard  in  the 
doorway.  She  had  brought  a  note,  and  was  waiting  for  an 
answer.  Camusot  went  out,  and  came  back  again  to  read  the 
note  aloud : 

"M.  le  Vice-Pr6sident  begs  M.  Camusot  to  sit  in  audience 
to-day  and  for  the  next  few  days,  so  that  there  may  be  a 
quorum  during  M.  le  President's  absence." 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  285 

"Then  there  is  an  end  of  the  preliminary  examination  I" 
cried  Mine.  Camusot.  "Did  I  not  tell  you,  dear,  that  they 
would  play  you  some  ugly  trick  ?  The  President  has  gone  off  to 
slander  you  to  the  public  prosecutor  and  the  President  of  the 
Court-Ko}ral.  You  will  be  changed  before  you  can  make  the 
examination.  Is  that  clear  ?" 

"You  will  etay,  monsieur,"  said  the  Duchess.  "The  public 
prosecutor  is  coming,  I  hope,  in  time." 

"When  the  public  prosecutor  arrives,"  little  Mme.  Camu- 
sot said,  with  some  heat,  "he  must  find  all  over. — Yes,  my 
dear,  yes,"  she  added,  looking  full  at  her  amazed  husband. — 
"Ah !  old  hypocrite  of  a  President,  you  are  setting  your  wits 
against  us ;  you  shall  remember  it !  You  have  a  mind  to  help 
us  to  a  dish  of  your  own  making,  you  shall  have  two  served  up 
to  you  by  your  humble  servant  Cecile  Amelie  Thirion! — 
Poor  old  Blondet!  It  is  lucky  for  him  that  the  President 
has  taken  this  journey  to  turn  us  out,  for  now  that  great  oaf 
of  a  Joseph  Blondet  will  marry  Mile.  Blandureau.  I  will 
let  Father  Blondet  have  some  seeds  in  return. — As  for  you, 
Camusot,  go  to  M.  Michu's,  while  Mme.  la  Duchesse  and  I 
will  go  to  find  old  Blondet.  You  must  expect  to  hear  it  said 
all  over  the  town  to-morrow  that  I  took  a  walk  with  a  lover 
this  morning." 

Mme.  Camusot  took  the  Duchess'  arm,  and  they  went 
through  the  town  by  deserted  streets  to  avoid  any  unpleasant 
adventure  on  the  way  to  the  old  Vice-President's  house. 
Chesnel  meanwhile  conferred  with  the  young  Count  in  prison ; 
Camusot  had  arranged  a  stolen  interview.  Cook-maids, 
servants,  and  the  other  early  risers  of  a  country  town,  seeing 
Mme.  Camusot  and  the  Duchess  taking  their  way  through 
the  back  streets,  took  the  young  gentleman  for  an  adorer  from 
Paris.  That  evening,  as  Cecile  Amelie  had  said,  the  news  of 
her  behavior  was  circulated  about  the  town,  and  more  than 
one  scandalous  rumor  was  occasioned  thereby.  Mme.  Canm- 
sot  and  her  supposed  lover  found  old  Blondet  in  his  green- 
house. He  greeted  his  colleague's  wife  and  her  companion, 
and  gave  the  charming  young  man  a  keen,  uneasy  glance. 


286     THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"I  have  the  honor  to  introduce  one  of  my  husband's 
cousins/'  said  Mme.  Camusot,  bringing  forward  the  Duchess ; 
"ho  is  one  of  the  most  distinguished  horticulturists  in  Paris ; 
and  as  he  cannot  spend  more  than  the  one  day  with  us,  on  his 
way  back  from  Brittany,  and  has  heard  of  your  flowers  and 
plants,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  coming  early." 

"Oh,  the  gentleman  is  a  horticulturist,  is  he?"  said  old 
Blondet. 

The  Duchess  bowed. 

"This  is  my  coffee-plant,"  said  Blondet,  "and  here  is  a  tea- 
plant." 

"What  can  have  taken  M.  le  President  away  from  home?" 
put  in  Mme.  Camusot.  "I  will  wager  that  his  absence  con- 
cerns M.  Camusot." 

"Exactly. — This,  monsieur,  is  the  queerest  of  all  cactuses," 
he  continued,  producing  a  flower-pot  which  appeared  to  con- 
tain a  piece  of  mildewed  rattan;  "it  comes  from  Australia. 
You  are  very  young,  sir,  to  be  a  horticulturist." 

"Dear  M.  Blondet,  never  mind  your  flowers,"  said  Mme. 
Camusot.  "You  are  concerned,  you  and  your  hopes,  and  your 
son's  marriage  with  Mile.  Blandureau.  You  are  duped  by  the 
President." 

"Bah !"  said  old  Blondet,  with  an  incredulous  air. 

"Yes,"  retorted  she.  "If  you  cultivated  people  a  little  more 
and  your  flowers  a  little  less,  you  would  know  that  the  dowry 
and  the  hopes  that  you  have  sown,  and  watered,  and  tilled, 
and  weeded  are  on  the  point  of  being  gathered  now  by  cunning 
hands." 

"Madame ! " 

"Oh,  nobody  in  the  town  will  have  the  courage  to  fly  in  the 
President's  face  and  warn  you.  I,  however,  do  not  belong  to 
the  town,  and,  thanks  to  this  obliging  young  man,  I  shall  soon 
be  going  back  to  Paris;  so  I  can  inform  you  that  Chesnel's 
successor  has  made  formal  proposals  for  Mile.  Claire  Blan- 
dureau's  hand  on  behalf  of  young  du  Eonceret,  who  is  to  have 
fifty  thousand  crowns  from  his  parents.  As  for  Fabien,  he 
has  made  up  his  mind  to  receive  a  call  to  the  bar,  so  as  to  gain 
an  appointment  as  judge." 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  287 

Old  Blondet  dropped  the  flower-pot  which  he  had  brought 
out  for  the  Duchess  to  see. 

"Oh,  my  cactus!  Oh,  my  son!  and  Mile.  Blan- 
dureau !  .  .  .  Look  here !  the  cactus  flower  is  broken  to 
pieces." 

"No,"  Mme.  Camusot  answered,  laughing;  "everything 
can  be  put  right.  If  you  have  a  mind  to  see  your  son  a 
judge  in  another  month,  we  will  tell  you  how  you  must  set  to 
work " 

"Step  this  way,  sir,  and  you  will  see  my  pelargoniums,  an 

enchanting  sight  while  they  are  in  flower "  Then  he 

added  to  Mme.  Camusot,  "Why  did  you  speak  of  these  mat- 
ters while  your  cousin  was  present." 

"All  depends  upon  him,"  riposted  Mme.  Camusot.  "Your 
son's  appointment  is  lost  for  ever  if  you  let  fall  a  word  about 
this  young  man." 

"Bah !" 

"The  young  man  is  a  flower " 

"Ah!" 

"He  is  the  Duehesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  sent  here  by  His 
Majesty  to  save  young  d'Esgrignon,  whom  they  arrested  yes- 
terday on  a  charge  of  forgery  brought  against  him  by  du 
Croisier.  Mme.  la  Duchesse  has  authority  from  the  Keeper 
of  the  Seals;  he  will  ratify  any  promises  that  she  makes  to 
us " 

"My  cactus  is  all  right!"  exclaimed  Blondet,  peering  at 
his  precious  plant. — "Go  on,  I  am  listening." 

"Take  counsel  with  Camusot  and  Michu  to  hush  up  the 
affair  as  soon  as  possible,  and  your  son  will  get  the  appoint- 
ment. It  will  come  in  time  enough  to  baffle  du  Ronceret's 
underhand  dealings  with  the  Blandureaus.  Your  son  will 
be  something  better  than  assistant  judge;  he  will  have  M. 
Camusot's  post  within  the  year.  The  public  prosecutor  will 
be  here  to-day.  M.  Sauvager  will  be  obliged  to  resign,  I 
expect,  after  his  conduct  in  this  affair.  At  the  court  my  hus- 
band will  show  you  documents  which  completely  exonerate 
the  Count  and  prove  that  the  forgery  was  a  trap  of  du 

Croisier's  own  setting." 
VOL.  7 — 41 


288  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Old  Blondet  went  into  the  Olympic  circus  where  his  six 
thousand  pelargoniums  stood,  and  made  his  bow  to  the 
Duchess. 

"Monsieur/'  said  he,  "if  your  wishes  do  not  exceed  the  law, 
this  thing  may  he  done/' 

"Monsieur,"  returned  the  Duchess,  "send  in  your  resigna- 
tion to  M.  Chesnel  to-morrow,  and  I  will  promise  you  that 
your  son  shall  he  appointed  within  the  week;  but  you  must 
not  resign  until  you  have  had  confirmation  of  my  promise 
from  the  public  prosecutor.  You  men  of  law  will  corne  to 
a  better  understanding  among  yourselves.  Only  let  him 
know  that  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  has  pledged  her 
word  to  you.  And  not  a  word  as  to  my  journey  hither,"  she 
added. 

The  old  judge  kissed  her  hand  and  began  recklessly  to 
gather  his  best  flowers  for  her. 

"Can  you  think  of  it?  Give  them  to  madame,"  said  the 
Duchess.  "A  young  man  would  not  have  flowers  about  him 
when  he  had  a  pretty  woman  on  his  arm." 

"Before  you  go  down  to  the  court,"  added  Mme.  Camusot, 
"ask  Chesnel's ,  successor  about  those  proposals  that  he  made 
in  the  name  of  M.  and  Mme.  du  Eonceret." 

Old  Blondet,  quite  overcome  by  this  revelation  of  the  Presi- 
dent's duplicity,  stood  planted  on  his  feet  by  the  wicket  gate, 
looking  after  the  two  women  as  they  hurried  away  through 
by-streets  home  again.  The  edifice  raised  so  painfully  during 
ten  years  for  his  beloved  son  was  crumbling  visibly  before 
his  eyes.  Was  it  possible?  He  suspected  some  trick,  and 
hurried  away  to  Chesnel's  successor. 

At  half-past  nine,  before  the  court  was  sitting,  Vice-Presi- 
dent Blondet,  Camusot,  and  Michu  met  with  remarkable 
punctuality  in  the  council  chamber.  Blondet  locked  the  door 
with  some  precautions  when  Camusot  and  Michu  came  in  to- 
gether. 

"Well,  Mr.  Vice-President,"  began  Michu,  "M.  Sauvager, 
without  consulting  the  public  prosecutor,  has  issued  a  warrant 
for  the  apprehension  of  one  Comte  d'Esgrignon,  in  order  to 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  289 

serve  a  grudge  borne  against  him  by  one  du  Croisier,  an 
enemy  of  the  King's  government.  It  is  a  regular  topsy-turvy 
affair.  The  President,  for  his  part,  goes  away,  and  thereby 
puts  a  stop  to  the  preliminary  examination !  And  we  know 
nothing  of  the  matter.  Do  they,  by  any  chance,  mean  to 
force  our  hand  ?" 

"This  is  the  first  word  I  have  heard  of  it,"  said  the  Vice- 
President.  He  was  furious  with  the  President  for  stealing  a 
march  on  him  with  the  Blandureaus.  Chesnel's  successor, 
the  du  Eoncerets'  man,  had  just  fallen  into  a  snare  set  by 
the  old  judge ;  the  truth  was  out,  he  knew  the  secret. 

"It  is  lucky  that  we  spoke  to  you  about  that  matter,  my 
dear  master,"  said  Camusot,  "or  you  might  have  given  up  all 
hope  of  seating  your  son  on  the  bench  or  of  marrying  him  to 
Mile.  Blandureau." 

"But  it  is  no  question  of  my  son,  nor  of  his  marriage," 
said  the  Vice-President ;  "we  are  talking  of  young  Comte 
d'Esgrignon.  Is  he  or  is  he  not  guilty  ?" 

"It  seems  that  Chesnel  deposited  the  amount  to  meet  the 
bill  with  Mme.  du  Croisier,"  said  Michu,  "and  a  crime  has 
been  made  of  a  mere  irregularity.  According  to  the  charge, 
the  Count  made  use  of  the  lower  half  of  a  letter  bearing  du 
Croisier's  signature  as  a  draft  which  he  cashed  at  the  Kel- 
lers'/' 

"An  imprudent  thing  to  do,"  was  Camusot's  comment. 

"But  why  is  du  Croisier  proceeding  against  him  if  the 
amount  was  paid  in  beforehand  ?"  asked  Vice-President  Blon- 
det. 

"He  does  not  know  that  the  money  was  deposited  with 
his  wife ;  or  he  pretends  that  he  does  not  know,"  said  Camu- 
sot. 

"It  is  a  piece  of  provincial  spite,"  said  Michu. 

"Still  it  looks  like  a  forgery  to  me,"  said  old  Blondet.  No 
passion  could  obscure  judicial  clear-sightedness  in  him. 

"Do  you  think  so  ?"  returned  Camusot.  "But,  at  the  out- 
set, supposing  that  the  Count  had  no  business  to  draw  upon 
du  Croisier,  there  would  still  be  no  forgery  of  the  signature; 


290  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

and  the  Count  believed  that  he  had  a  right  to  draw  on 
Croisier  when  Chesnel  advised  him  that  the  money  had  been 
placed  to  his  credit." 

"Well,  then,  where  is  the  forgery?"  asked  Blondet.  "It 
is  the  intent  to  defraud  which  constitutes  forgery  in  a  civil 
action." 

"Oh,  it  is  clear,  if  you  take  du  Croisier's  version  for  truth, 
that  the  signature  was  diverted  from  its  purpose  to  obtain  a 
sum  of  money  in  spite  of  du  Croisier's  contrary  injunction  to 
his  bankers,"  Camusot  answered. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Blondet,  "this  seems  to  me  to  be  a  mere 
trifle,  a  quibble. — Suppose  you  had  the  money,  I  ought  per- 
haps to  have  waited  until  I  had  your  authorization;  but  I, 

Comte  d'Esgrignon,  was  pressed  for  money,  so  I Come, 

come,  your  prosecution  is  a  piece  of  revengeful  spite. 
Forgery  is  denned  by  the  law  as  an  attempt  to  obtain  any  ad- 
vantage which  rightfully  belongs  to  another.  There  is  no 
forgery  here,  according  to  the  letter  of  the  Eoman  law,  nor 
according  to  the  spirit  of  modern  jurisprudence  (always  from 
the  point  of  view  of  a  civil  action,  for  we  are  not  here  con- 
cerned with  the  falsification  of  public  or  authentic  docu- 
ments). Between  private  individuals  the  essence  of  a  forgery 
is  the  intent  to  defraud;  where  is  it  in  this  case?  In  what 
times  are  we  living,  gentlemen  ?  Here  is  the  President  going 
away  ta  balk  a  preliminary  examination  which  ought  to  be 
over  by  this  time !  Until  to-day  I  did  not  know  M.  le  Presi- 
dent, but  he  shall  have  the  benefit  of  arrears ;  from  this  time 
forth  he  shall  draft  his  decisions  himself.  You  must  set 
about  this  affair  with  all  possible  speed,  M.  Camusot." 

"Yes,"  said  Michu.  "In  my  opinion,  instead  of  letting  the 
young  man  out  on  bail,  we  ought  to  pull  him  out  of  this  mess 
at  once.  Everything  turns  on  the  examination  of  du  Croisier 
and  his  wife.  You  might  summons  them  to  appear  while 
the  court  is  sitting,  M.  Camusot ;  take  down  their  depositions 
before  four  o'clock,  send  in  your  report  to-night,  and  we  will 
give  our  decision  in  the  morning  before  the  court  sits." 
"We  will  settle  what  course  to  pursue  while  the  barristers 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  291 

are  pleading,"  said  Vice-President  Blondet,  addressing 
Camusot. 

And  with  that  the  three  judges  put  on  their  robes  and  went 
into  court. 

At  noon  Mile.  Armande  and  the  Bishop  reached  the  Hotel 
d'Esgrignon;  Chesnel  and  M.  Couturier  were  there  to  meet 
them.  There  was  a  sufficiently  short  conference  between  the 
prelate  and  Mme.  du  Croisier's  director,  and  the  latter  set 
out  at  once  to  visit  his  charge. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  morning  du  Croisier  received  a  sum- 
mons to  appear  in  the  examining  magistrate's  office  between 
one  and  two  in  the  afternoon.  Thither  he  betook  himself, 
consumed  by  well-founded  suspicions.  It  was  impossible  that 
the  President  should  have  foreseen  the  arrival  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse  upon  the  scene,  the  return  of  the  public 
prosecutor,  and  the  hasty  confabulation  of  his  learned 
brethren;  so  he  had  omitted  to  trace  out  a  plan  for  du 
Croisier's  guidance  in  the  event  of  the  preliminary  examina- 
tion taking  place.  Neither  of  the  pair  imagined  that  the 
proceedings  would  be  hurried  on  in  this  way.  Du  Croisier 
obeyed  the  summons  at  once;  he  wanted  to  know  how  M. 
Camusot  was  disposed  to  act.  So  he  was  compelled  to  answer 
the  questions  put  to  him.  Camusot  addressed  him  in  sum- 
mary fashion  with  the  six  following  inquiries : — 

"Was  the  signature  on  the  bill  alleged  to  be  a  forgery  in 
your  handwriting? — Had  you  previously  done  business  with 
M.  le  Comte  d'Esgrignon  ? — Was  not  M.  le.  Comte  d'Esgrignon 
in  the  habit  of  drawing  upon  you,  with  or  without  advice  ? — 
Did  you  not  write  a  letter  authorizing  M.  d'Esgrignon  to  rely 
upon  you  at  any  time  ? — Had  not  Chesnel  squared  the  account 
not  once,  but  many  times  already  ? — Were  you  not  away  from 
home  when  this  took  place  ?" 

All  these  questions  the  banker  answered  in  the  affirmative. 
In  spite  of  wordy  explanations,  the  magistrate  always  brought 
him  back  to  a  "Yes"  or  "No."  When  the  questions  and 
answers  alike  had  been  resumed  in  the  proces-verbal,  the  ex- 
amining magistrate  brought  out  a  final  thunderbolt. 


292  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

"Was  du  Croisier  aware  that  the  money  destined  to  meet 
the  bill  had  been  deposited  with  him,  du  Croisier,  according 
to  ChesnePs  declaration,  and  a  letter  of  advice  sent  by  the  said 
Chesnel  to  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon,  five  days  before  the  date 
of  the  bill  ?" 

That  last  question  frightened  du  Croisier.  He  asked  what 
was  meant  by  it,  and  whether  he  was  supposed  to  be  the  de- 
fendant and  M.  le  Comte  d'Esgrignon  the  plaintiff?  He 
called  the  magistrate's  attention  to  the  fact  that  if  the  money 
had  been  deposited  with  him,  there  was  no  ground  for  the 
action. 

"Justice  is  seeking  information,"  said  the  magistrate,  as 
he  dismissed  the  witness,  but  not  before  he  had  taken  down 
du  Croisier's  last  observation. 

"But  the  money,  sir " 

"The  money  is  at  your  house." 

Chesnel,  likewise  summoned,  came  forward  to  explain  the 
matter.  The  truth  of  his  assertions  was  borne  out  by  Mine, 
du  Croisier's  deposition.  The  Count  had  already  been  ex- 
amined. Prompted  by  Chesnel,  he  produced  du  Croisier's 
first  letter,  in  which  he  begged  the  Count  to  draw  upon  him 
without  the  insulting  formality  of  depositing  the  amount 
beforehand.  The  Comte  d'Esgrignon  next  brought  out  a 
letter  in  Chesnel's  handwriting,  by  which  the  notary  advised 
him  of  the  deposit  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  with  M. 
du  Croisier.  With  such  primary  facts  as  these  to  bring  for- 
ward as  evidence,  the  young  Count's  innocence  was  bound  to 
emerge  triumphantly  from  a  court  of  law. 

Du  Croisier  went  home  from  the  court,  his  face  white 
with  rage,  and  the  foam  of  repressed  fury  on  his  lips.  His 
wife  was  sitting  by  the  fireside  in  the  drawing-room  at  work 
upon  a  pair  of  slippers  for  him.  She  trembled  when  she 
looked  into  his  face,  but  her  mind  was  made  up. 

"Madame,"  he  stammered  out,  "what  deposition  is  this 
that  you  made  before  the  magistrate  ?  You  have  dishonored, 
ruined,  and  betrayed  me !" 

"I  have  saved  you,  monsieur,"  answered  she.     "If  some 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  293 

day  you  will  have  the  honor  of  connecting  yourself  with  the 
d'Esgrignons  by  marrying  your  niece  to  the  Count,  it  will 
be  entirely  owing  to  my  conduct  to-day." 

"A  miracle !"  cried  he.  "Balaam's  ass  has  spoken.  Noth- 
ing will  astonish  me  after  this.  And  where  are  the  hundred 
thousand  crowns  which  (so  M.  Carausot  tells  me)  are  here 
in  my  house?" 

"Here  they  are,"  said  she,  pulling  out  a  bundle  of  bank- 
notes from  beneath  the  cushions  of  her  settee.  "I  have  not 
committed  mortal  sin  by  declaring  that  M.  Chesnel  gave  them 
into  my  keeping." 

"While  I  was  away?" 

"You  were  not  here." 

"Will  you  swear  that  to  me  on  your  salvation?" 

"I  swear  it,"  she  said  composedly. 

"Then  why  did  you  say  nothing  to  me  about  it?"  de- 
manded he. 

"I  was  wrong  there,"  said  his  wife,  "but  my  mistake  was 
all  for  your  good.  Your  niece  will  be  Marquise  d'Esgrignon 
some  of  these  days,  and  you  will  perhaps  be  a  deputy,  if  you 
behave  well  in  this  deplorable  business.  You  have  gone  too 
far ;  you  must  find  out  how  to  get  back  again." 

Du  Croisier,  under  stress  of  painful  agitation,  strode  up 
and  down  his  drawing-room ;  while  his  wife,  in  no  less  agita- 
tion, awaited  the  result  of  this  exercise.  Du  Croisier  at 
length  rang  the  bell. 

"I  am  not  at  home  to  any  one  to-night,"  he  said,  when  the 
man  appeared;  "shut  the  gates;  and  if  any  one  calls,  tell 
them  that  your  mistress  and  I  have  gone  into  the  country. 
We  shall  start  directly  after  dinner,  and  dinner  must  be  half 
an  hour  earlier  than  usual." 

The  great  news  was  discussed  that  evening  in  every  draw- 
ing-room; little  shopkeepers,  working  folk,  beggars,  the 
noblesse,  the  merchant  class — the  whole  town,  in  short,  was 
talking  of  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon's  arrest  on  a  charge  of 
forgery.  The  Comte  d'Esgrignon  would  be  tried  in  the 


29*     THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Assize  Court;  he  would  be  condemned  and  branded.  Most 
of  those  who  cared  for  the  honor  of  the  family  denied  the 
fact.  At  nightfall  Chesnel  went  to  Mme.  Camusot  and  es- 
corted the  stranger  to  the  Hotel  d'Esgrignon.  Poor  Mile. 
Armande  was  expecting  him ;  she  led  the  fair  Duchess  to  her 
own  room,  which  she  had  given  up  to  her,  for  his  lordship 
the  Bishop  occupied  Victurnien's  chamber;  and,  left  alone 
with  her  guest,  the  noble  woman  glanced  at  the  Duchess  with 
most  piteous  eyes. 

"Your  owed  help,  indeed,  madame,  to  the  poor  boy  who 
ruined  himself  for  your  sake/'  she  said,  "the  boy  to  whom  we 
are  all  of  us  sacrificing  ourselves." 

The  Duchess  had  already  made  a  Avoman's  survey  of  Mile. 
d'Esgrignon' s  room;  the  cold,  bare,  comfortless  chamber, 
that  might  have  been  a  nun's  cell,  was  like  a  picture  of  the 
life  of  the  heroic  woman  before  her.  The  Duchess  saw  it  all 
— past,  present,  and  future — with  rising  emotion,  felt  the 
incongruity  of  her  presence,  and  could  not  keep  back  the 
falling  tears  that  made  answer  for  her. 

But  in  Mile.  Armande  the  Christian  overcame  Victurnien's 
aunt.  "Ah,  I  was  wrong;  forgive  me,  Mme.  la  Duchesse; 
you  did  not  know  how  poor  we  were,  and  my  nephew  was  in- 
capable of  the  admission.  And  besides,  now  that  I  see  you,  I 
can  understand  all — even  the  crime !" 

And  Mile.  Armande,  withered  and  thin  and  white,  but 
beautiful  as  those  tall  austere  slender  figures  which  German 
art  alone  can  paint,  had  tears  too  in  her  eyes. 

"Do  not  fear,  dear  angel,"  the  Duchess  said  at  last;  "he 
is  safe." 

"Yes,  but  honor? — and  his  career?  Chesnel  told  me;  the 
King  knows  the  truth." 

"We  will  think  of  a  way  of  repairing  the  evil,"  said  the 
Duchess. 

Mile.  Armande  went  downstairs  to  the  salon,  and  found 
the  Collection  of  Antiquities  complete  to  a  man.  Every  one 
of  them  had  come,  partly  to  do  honor  to  the  Bishop,  partly 
to  rally  round  the  Marquis;  but  Chesnel,  posted  in  the  ante- 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  295 

chamber,  warned  each  new  arrival  to  say  no  word  of  the  affair, 
that  the  aged  Marquis  might  never  know  that  such  a  thing  had 
been.  The  loyal  Frank  was  quite  capable  of  killing  his  son 
or  du  Croisier;  for  either  the  one  or  the  other  must  have 
been  guilty  of  death  in  his  eyes.  It  chanced,  strangely 
enough,  that  he  talked  more  of  Victurnien  than  usual ;  he  was 
glad  that  his  son  had  gone  back  to  Paris.  The  King  would 
give  Victurnien  a  place  before  very  long;  the  King  was  in- 
teresting himself  at  last  in  the  d'Esgrignons.  And  his 
friends,  their  hearts  dead  within  them,  praised  Victurnien's 
conduct  to  the  skies.  Mile.  Armande  prepared  the  way  for 
her  nephew's  sudden  appearance  among  them  by  remarking 
to  her  brother  that  Victurnien  would  be  sure  to  come  to  see 
them,  and  that  he  must  be  even  then  on  his  way. 

"Bah !"  said  the  Marquis,  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
hearth,  "if  he  is  doing  well  where  he  is,  he  ought  to  stay 
there,  and  not  to  be  thinking  of  the  joy  it  would  give  his 
old  father  to  see  him  again.  The  King's  service  has  the 
first  claim." 

Scarcely  one  of  those  present  heard  the  words  without  a 
shudder.  Justice  might  give  over  i  d'Esgrignon  to  the  ex- 
ecutioner's branding  iron.  There  was  a  dreadful  pause. 
The  old  Marquise  de  Casteran  could  not  keep  back  a  tear 
that  stole  down  over  her  rouge,  and  turned  her  head  away 
to  hide  it. 

Next  day  at  noon,  in  the  sunny  weather,  a  whole  'excited 
population  was  dispersed  in  groups  along  the  high  street, 
which  ran  through  the  heart  of  the  town,  and  nothing  was 
talked  of  but  the  great  affair.  Was  the  Count  in  prison  or 
was  he  not  ? — All  at  once  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon's  well-known 
tilbury  was  seen  driving  down  the  Kue  Saint-Blaise ;  it  had 
evidently  come  from  the  Prefecture,  the  Count  himsolf  was 
on  the  box  seat,  and  by  his  side  sat  a  charming  young  man, 
whom  nobody  recognized.  The  pair  were  laughing  and  talking 
and  in  great  spirits.  They  wore  Bengal  roses  in  their  button- 
holes. Altogether,  it  was  a  theatrical  surprise  which  words 
fail  to  describe. 


296  THE  JEALOUSIES  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

At  ten  o'clock  the  court  had  decided  to  dismiss  the  charge, 
stating  their  very  sufficient  reasons  for  setting  the  Count 
at  liberty,  in  a  document  which  contained  a  thunderbolt  for 
du  Croisier,  in  the  shape  of  an  inasmuch  that  gave  the  Count 
the  right  to  institute  proceedings  for  libel.  Old  Chesnel  was 
walking  up  the  Grande  Eue,  as  if  by  accident,  telling  all  who 
cared  to  hear  him  that  du  Croisier  had  set  the  most  shameful 
snares  for  the  d'Esgrignons'  honor,  and  that  it  was  entirely 
owing  to  the  forbearance  and  magnanimity  of  the  family  that 
he  was  not  prosecuted  for  slander. 

On  the  evening  of  that  famous  day,  after-  the  Marquis 
d'Esgrignon  had  gone  to  bed,  the  Count,  Mile.  Armande,  and 
the  Chevalier  were  left  with  the  handsome  young  page,  now 
about  to  return  to  Paris.  The  charming  cavalier's  sex  could 
not  be  hidden  from  the  Chevalier,  and  he  alone,  besides  the 
three  officials  and  Mme.  Camusot,  knew  that  the  Duchess  had 
been  among  them. 

"The  house  is  saved,"  began  Chesnel,  "but  after  this  shock 
it  will  take  a  hundred  years  to  rise  again.  The  debts  must 
be  paid  now;  you  must  marry  an  heiress,  M.  le  Comte,  there 
is  nothing  else  left  for  you  to  do." 

"And  take  her  where  you  may  find  her,"  said  the 
Duchess. 

"A  second  mesalliance!"  exclaimed  Mile.  Armande. 

The  Duchess  began  to  laugh. 

"It  is  better  to  marry  than  to  die,"  she  said.  As  she  spoke 
she  drew  from  her  waistcoat  pocket  a  tiny  crystal  phial  that 
came  from  the  court  apothecary. 

Mile.  Armande  shrank  away  in  horror.  Old  Chesnel  took 
the  fair  Maufrigneuse's  hand,  and  kissed  it  without  permis- 
sion. 

"Are  you  all  out  of  your  minds  here?"  continued  the 
Duchess.  "Do  you  really  expect  to  live  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury when  the  rest  of  the  world  has  reached  the  nineteenth? 
My  dear  children,  there  is  no  noblesse  nowadays ;  there  is  no 
aristocracy  left !  Napoleon's  Code  Civil  made  an  end  of  the 
parchments,  exactly  as  cannon  made  an  end  of  feudal  castles. 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  297 

When  you  have  some  money,  you  will  be  very  much  more  of 
nobles  than  you  are  now.  Marry  anybody  you  please,  Vic- 
turnien,  you  will  raise  your  wife  to  your  rank;  that  is  the 
most  substantial  privilege  left  to  the  French  noblesse.  Did 
not  M.  de  Talleyrand  marry  Mme.  Grandt  without  com- 
promising his  position?  Kemember  that  Louis  XIV.  took 
the  Widow  Scarron  for  his  wife." 

"He  did  not  marry  her  for  her  money,"  interposed  Mile. 
Armande. 

"If  the  Comtesse  d'Esgrignon  were  one  du  Croisier's  niece, 
for  instance,  would  you  receive  her?"  asked  Chesnel. 

"Perhaps,"  replied  the  Duchess ;  "but  the  King,  beyond  all 
doubt,  would  be  very  glad  to  see  her. — So  you  do  not  know 
what  is  going  on  in  the  world?"  continued  she,  seeing  the 
amazement  in  their  faces.  "Victurnien  has  been  in  Paris; 
he  knows  how  things  go  there.  We  had  more  influence  under 
Napoleon.  Marry  Mile.  Duval,  Victurnien;  she  will  be  just 
as  much  Marquise  d'Esgrignon  as  I  am  Duchesse  de  Maufri- 
gneuse." 

"All  is  lost — even  honor !"  said  the  Chevalier,  with  a  wave 
of  the  hand. 

"Good-bye,  Victurnien,"  said  the  Duchess,  kissing  her  lover 
on  the  forehead ;  "we  shall  not  see  each  other  again.  Live  on 
your  lands;  that  is  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do;  the  air  of 
Paris  is  not  at  all  good  for  you." 

"Diane !"  the  young  Count  cried  despairingly. 

"Monsieur,  you  forget  yourself  strangely,"  the  Duchess 
retorted  coolly,  as  she  laid  aside  her  role  of  man  and  mistress, 
and  became  not  merely  an  angel  again,  but  a  duchess,  and 
not  only  a  duchess,  but  Moliere's  Celimene. 

The  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  made  a  stately  bow  to  these 
four  personages,  and  drew  from  the  Chevalier  his  last  tear 
of  admiration  at  the  service  of  le  beau  sexe. 

"How  like  she  is  to  the  Princess  Goritza !"  he  exclaimed 
in  a  low  voice. 

Diane  had  disappeared.  The  crack  of  the  postilion's  whip 
told  Victurnien  that  the  fair  romance  of  his  first  love  was 


298  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

over.  While  the  peril  lasted,  Diane  could  still  see  her  lover 
in  the  young  Count ;  but  out  of  danger,  she  despised  him  for 
the  weakling  that  he  was. 

Six  months  afterwards,  Camusot  received  the  appointment 
of  assistant  judge  at  Paris,  and  later  he  became  an  examin- 
ing magistrate.  Goodman  Blondet  was  made  a  councillor 
to  the  Royal-Court;  he  held  the  post  just  long  enough  to 
secure  a  retiring  pension,  and  then  went  back  to  live  in  his 
pretty  little  house.  Joseph  Blondet  sat  in  his  father's  seat  at 
the  court  till  the  end  of  his  days;  there  was  not  the  faintest 
chance  of  promotion  for  him,  but  he  became  Mile.  Blan- 
dureau's  husband ;  and  she,  no  doubt,  is  leading  to-day,  in  the 
little  flower-covered  brick  house,  as  dull  a  life  as  any  carp  in 
a  marble  basin.  Michu  and  Camusot  also  received  the  Cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  while  Blondet  became  an  Officer.  As 
for  M.  Sauvager,  deputy  public  prosecutor,  he  was  sent  to 
Corsica,  to  du  Croisier's  great  relief;  he  had  decidedly  no 
mind  to  bestow  his  niece  upon  that  functionary. 

Du  Croisier  himself,  urged  by  President  du  Eonceret,  ap- 
pealed from  the  finding  of  the  Tribunal  to  the  Court-Eoyal, 
and  lost  his  cause.  The  Liberals  throughout  the  department 
held  that  little  d'Esgrignon  was  guilty;  while  the  Royalists, 
on  the  other  hand,  told  frightful  stories  of  plots  woven  by 
"that  abominable  du  Croisier"  to  compass  his  revenge.  A 
duel  was  fought  indeed;  the  hazard  of  arms  favored  du 
Croisier,  the  young  Count  was  dangerously  wounded,  and  his 
antagonist  maintained  his  words.  This  affair  embittered  the 
strife  between  the  two  parties;  the  Liberals  brought  it  for- 
ward on  all  occasions.  Meanwhile  du  Croisier  never  could 
carry  his  election,  and  saw  no  hope  of  marrying  his  niece  to 
the  Count,  especially  after  the  duel. 

A  month  after  the  decision  of  the  Tribunal  was  con- 
firmed in  the  Court-Royal,  Chesnel  died,  exhausted  by  the 
dreadful  strain,  which  had  weakened  and  shaken  him  mentally 
and  physically.  He  died  in  the  hour  of  victory,  like  some 
old  faithful  hound  that  has  brought  the  boar  to  bay,  and  gets 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  299 

his  death  on  the  tusks.  He  died  as  happily  as  might  be, 
seeing  that  he  left  the  great  House  all  but  ruined,  and  -the  heir 
in  penury,  bored  to  death  by  an  idle  life,  and  without  a  hope 
of  establishing  himself.  That  bitter  thought  and  his  own  ex- 
haustion, no  doubt,  hastened  the  old  man's  end.  One  great 
comfort  came  to  him  as  he  lay  amid  the  wreck  of  so  many 
hopes,  sinking  under  the  burden  of  so  many  cares — the  old 
Marquis,  at  his  sister's  entreaty,  gave  him  back  all  the  old 
friendship.  The  great  lord  came  to  the  little  house  in  the 
Kue  du  Bercail,  and  sat  by  his  old  servant's  bedside,  all  un- 
aware how  much  that  servant  had  done  and  sacrificed  for 
him.  Chesnel  sat  upright,  and  repeated  Simeon's  cry. — The 
Marquis  allowed  them  to  bury  Chesnel  in  the  castle  chapel; 
they  laid  him  crosswise  at  the  foot  of  the  tomb  which  was 
waiting  for  the  Marquis  himself,  the  last,  in  a  sense,  of  the 
d'Esgrignons. 

And  so  died  one  of  the  last  representatives  of  that  great 
and  beautiful  thing,  Service;  giving  to  that  often  discredited 
word  its  original  meaning,  the  relation  between  feudal  lord 
and  servitor.  That  relation,  only  to  be  found  in  some  out-of- 
the-way  province,  or  among  a  few  old  servants  of  the  King, 
did  honor  alike  to  a  noblesse  that  could  call  forth  such  affec- 
tion, and  to  a  bourgeoisie  that  could  conceive  it.  Such  noble 
and  magnificent  devotion  is  no  longer  possible  among  us. 
Noble  houses  have  no  servitors  left;  even  as  France  has  no 
longer  a  King,  nor  an  hereditary  peerage,  nor  lands  that  are 
bound  irrevocably  to  an  historic  house,  that  the  glorious 
names  of  a  nation  may  be  perpetuated.  Chesnel  was  not 
merely  one  of  the  obscure  great  men  of  private  life ;  he  was 
something  more — he  was  a  great  fact.  In  his  sustained  self- 
devotion  is  there  not  something  indefinably  solemn  and  sub- 
lime, something  that  rises  above  the  one  beneficent  deed,  or  the 
heroic  height  which  is  reached  by  a  moment's  supreme  effort  ? 
Chesnel's  virtues  belong  essentially  to  the  classes  which  stand 
between  the  poverty  of  the  people  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
greatness  of  the  aristocracy  on  the  other ; for  these  can  combine 
homely  burgher  virtues  with  the  heroic  ideals  of  the  noble, 
enlightening  both  by  a  solid  education. 


300  THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Victurnien  was  not  well  looked  upon  at  Court ;  there  was 
.no  more  chance  of  a  great  match  for  him,  nor  a  place. 
His  Majesty  steadily  refused  to  raise  the  d'Esgrignons  to  the 
peerage,  the  one  royal  favor  which  could  rescue  Victurnien 
from  his  wretched  position.  It  was  impossible  that  he 
should  marry  a  bourgeoise  heiress  in  his  father's  lifetime,  so 
he  was  bound  to  live  on  shabbily  under  the  paternal  roof  with 
memories  of  his  two  years  of  splendor  in  Paris,  and  the  lost 
love  of  a  great  lady  to  bear  him  company.  He  grew  moody 
and  depressed,  vegetating  at  home  with  a  careworn  aunt  and  a 
half  heart-broken  father,  who  attributed  his  son's  condition 
to  a  wasting  malady.  Chesnel  was  no  longer  there. 

The  Marquis  died  in  1830.  The  great  d'Esgrignon,  with 
a  following  of  all  the  less  infirm  noblesse  from  the  Collection 
of  Antiquities,  went  tox  wait  upon  Charles  X.  at  Nonancourt ; 
he  paid  his  respects  to  his  sovereign,  and  swelled  the  meagre 
train  of  the  fallen  king.  It  was  an  act  of  courage  which 
seems  simple  enough  to-day,  but,  in  that  time  of  enthusiastic 
revolt,  it  was  heroism. 

"The  Gaul  has  conquered!"  These  were  the  Marquis' 
last  words. 

By  that  time  du  Croisier's  victory  was  complete.  The 
new  Marquis  d'Esgrignon  accepted  Mile.  Duval  as  his  wife 
a  week  after  his  old  father's  death.  His  bride  brought  him 
three  millions  of  francs,  for  du  Croisier  and  his  wife  settled 
the  reversion  of  their  fortunes  upon  her  in  the  marriage-con- 
tract. Du  Croisier  took  occasion  to  say  during  the  ceremony 
that  the  d'Esgrignon  family  was  the  most  honorable  of  all  the 
ancient  houses  in  France. 

Some  day  the  present  Marquis  d'Esgrignon  will  have  an  in- 
come of  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  crowns.  You  may 
see  him  in  Paris,  for  he  comes  to  town  every  winter  and  leads 
a  jolly  bachelor  life,  while  he  treats  his  wife  with  something 
more  than  the  indifference  of  the  grand  seigneur  of  olden 
times ;  he  takes  no  thought  whatever  for  her. 

"As  for  Mile.  d'Esgrignon,"  said  Emile  Blondet,  to  whom 
all  the  detail  of  the  story  is  due,  "if  she  is  no  longer  like  the 


THE  JEALOUSIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN  301 

divinely  fair  woman  whom  I  saw  by  glimpses  in  my  childhood, 
she  is  decidedly,  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven,  the  most  pathetic 
and  interesting  figure  in  the  Collection  of  Antiquities.  She 
queens  it  among  them  still.  I  saw  her  when  I  made  my  last 
journey  to  my  native  place  in  search  of  the  necessary  papers 
for  my  marriage.  When  my  father  knew  who  it  was  that  I 
had  married,  he  was  struck  dumb  with  amazement ;  he  had  not 
a  word  to  say  until  I  told  him  that  I  was  a  prefect. 

"  'You  were  born  to  it,'  he  said,  with  a  smile. . 

"As  I  took  a  walk  around  the  town,  I  met  Mile.  Armande. 
She  looked  taller  than  ever.  I  looked  at  her,  and  thought  of 
Marius  among  the  ruins  of  Carthage.  Had  she  not  outlived 
her  creed,  and  the  beliefs  that  had  been  destroyed?  She  is 
a  sad  and  silent  woman,  with  nothing  of  her  old  beauty  left 
except  the  eyes,  that  shine  with  an  unearthly  light.  I 
watched  her  on  her  way  to  mass,  with  her  book  in  her  hand, 
and  could  not  help  thinking  that  she  prayed  to  God  to  take 
her  out  of  the  world." 

LES  J ARDIES,  Ju'.y  1837. 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

Dedicated  to  Monsieur  le  Contre-Amiral  Bazoche,  Governor  of  the 
Isle  of  Bourbon,  by  the  grateful  writer.  DK  BAJLZAC. 

IN  1828,  at  about  one  o'clock  one  morning,  two  persons  came 
out  of  a  large  house  in  the  Rue  du  Faubourg  Saint-Honore, 
near  the  Elysee-Bourbon.  One  was  a  famous  doctor,  Horace 
Bianchon;  the  other  was  one  of  the  most  elegant  men  in 
Paris,  the  Baron  de  Rastignac;  they  were  friends  of  long 
standing.  Each  had  sent  away  his  carriage,  and  no  cab  was 
to  be  seen  in  the  street ;  but  the  night  was  fine,  and  the  pave- 
ment dry. 

"We  will  walk  as  far  as  the  boulevard,"  said  Eugene  de 
Rastignac  to  Bianchon.  "You  can  get  a  hackney  cab  at  the 
club;  there  is  always  one  to  be  found  there  till  daybreak. 
Come  with  me  as  far  as  my  house." 

"With  pleasure." 

"Well,  and  what  have  you  to  say  about  it?" 

"About  that  woman  ?"  said  the  doctor  coldly. 

"There  I  recognize  my  Bianchon!"  exclaimed  Rastignac. 

"Why,  how?" 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,  you  speak  of  the  Marquise  d'Espard 
as  if  she  were  a  case  for  your  hospital." 

"Do  you  want  to  know  what  I  think,  Eugene?  If  you 
throw  over  Madame  de  Nucingen  for  this  Marquise,  you  will 
swap  a  one-eyed  horse  for  a  blind  one."  ' 

"Madame  de  Nucingen  is  six-and-thirty,  Bianchon." 

"And  this  woman  is  three-and-thirty,"  said  the  doctor 
quickly. 

"Her  worst  enemies  only  say  six-and-twenty." 

"My  dear  boy,  when  you  really  want  to  know  a  woman's 

age,  look  at  her  temples  and  the  tip  of  her  nose.    Whatever 

women  may  achieve  with  their  cosmetics,  they  can  do  nothing 

against  those  incorruptible  witnesses  to  their  experiences. 

VOL-  7~42  (303) 


304  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

There  each  year  of  life  has  left  its  stigmata.  When  a  woman's 
temples  are  flaccid,  seamed,  withered  in  a  particular 
way ;  when  at  the  tip  of  her  nose  you  see  those  minute  specks, 
which  look  like  the  imperceptible  black  smuts  which  are  shed 
in  London  by  the  chimneys  in  which  coal  is  burnt.  .  .  . 
Your  servant,  sir!  That  woman  is  more  than  thirty.  She 
may  be  handsome,  witty,  loving — whatever  you  please,  but 
she  is  past  thirty,  she  is  arriving  at  maturity.  I  do  not 
blame  men  who  attach  themselves  to  that  kind  of  woman; 
only,  a  man  of  your  superior  distinction  must  not  mistake  a 
winter  pippin  for  a  little  summer  apple,  smiling  on  the 
bough,  and  waiting  for  you  to  crunch  it.  Love  never  goes 
to  study  the  registers  of  birth  and  marriage;  no  one  loves 
a  woman  because  she  is  handsome  or  ugly,  stupid  or  clever; 
we  love  because  we  love." 

"Well,  for  my  part,  I  love  for  quite  other  reasons.  She  is 
Marquise  d'Espard;  she  was  a  Blamont-Chauvry ;  she  is  the 
fashion;  she  has  soul;  her  foot  is  as  pretty  as  the  Duchesse 
de  Berri's;  she  has  perhaps  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a 
year — some  day,  perhaps,  I  may  marry  her!  In  short,  she 
will  put  me  into  a  position  which  will  enable  me  to  pay  my 
debts." 

"I  thought  you  were  rich,"  interrupted  Bianchon. 

''Bah !  I  have  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year — just  enough 
to  keep  up  my  stables.  I  was  thoroughly  done,  my  dear  fel- 
low, in  that  Nucingen  business ;  I  will  tell  you  about  that. — 
I  have  got  my  sisters  married;  that  is  the  clearest  profit  I 
can  show  since  we  last  met;  and  I  would  rather  have  them 
provided  for  than 'have  five  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Now,  what  would  you  have  me  do  ?  I  am  ambitious.  To  what 
can  Madame  de  Nucingen  lead?  A  year  more  and  I  shall 
be  shelved,  stuck  in  a  pigeon-hole  like  a  married  man.  I 
have  all  the  discomforts  of  marriage  and  of  single  life,  with- 
out the  advantages  of  either;  a  false  position  to  which  every 
man  must  come  who  remains  tied  too  long  to  the  same  apron- 
string." 

"So  you  think  you  will  come  upon  a  treasure  here?"  said 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  305 

Bianchon.  "Your  Marquise,  my  dear  fellow,  does  not  hir 
my  fancy  at  all." 

"Your  liberal  opinions  blur  your  eyesight.  If  Madame 
d'Espard  were  a  Madame  Eabourdin  .  .  ." 

"Listen  to  me.  Noble  or  simple,  she  would  still  have  no 
soul;  she  would  still  be  a  perfect  type  of  selfishness.  Take 
my  word  for  it,  medical  men  are  accustomed  to  judge  of 
people  and  things ;  the  sharpest  of  us  read  the  soul  while  we 
study  the  body.  In  spite  of  that  pretty  boudoir  where  we 
have  spent  this  evening,  in  spite  of  the  magnificence  of  the 
house,  it  is  quite  possible  that  Madame  la  Marquise  is  in 
debt." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"I  do  not  assert  it ;  I  am  supposing.  She  talked  of  her  soul 
as  Louis  XVIII.  used  to  talk  of  his  heart.  I  tell  you  this: 
That  fragile,  fair  woman,  with  her  chestnut  hair,  who  pities 
herself  that  she  may  be  pitied,  enjoys  an  iron  constitution, 
an  appetite  like  a  wolf's,  and  the  strength  and  cowardice  of 
a  tiger.  Gauze,  and  silk,  and  muslin  were  never  more  cleverly 
twisted  round  a  lie !  Ecco" 

"Bianchon,  you  frighten  me!  You  have  learned  a  good 
many  things,  then,  since  we  lived  in  the  Maison  Vauquer?" 

"Yes;  since  then,  my  boy,  I  have  seen  puppets,  both  dolls 
and  manikins.  I  know  something  of  the  ways  of  the  fine 
ladies  whose  bodies  we  attend  to,  saving  that  which  is  dearest 
to  them,  their  child — if  they  love  it — or  their  pretty  faces, 
which  they  always  worship.  A  man  spends  his  nights  by 
their  pillow,  wearing  himself  to  death  to  spare  them  the 
slightest  loss  of  beauty  in  any  part;  he  succeeds,  he  keeps 
their  secret  like  the  dead ;  they  send  to  ask  for  his  bill,  and 
think  it  horribly  exorbitant.  Who  saved  them?  Nature. 
Far  from  recommending  him,  they  speak  ill  of  him,  fearing 
last  he  should  become  the  physician  of  their  best  friends. 

"My  dear  fellow,  those  women  of  whom  you  say,  'They  are 
angels !'  I — I — have  seen  stripped  of  the  little  grimaces  under 
which  they  hide  their  soul,  as  well  as  of  the  frippery  under 


306  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNAC\ 

which  they  disguise  their  defects — without  manners  and 
without  stays;  they  are  not  beautiful. 

"We  saw  a  great  deal  of  mud,  a  great  deal  of  dirt,  under 
the  waters  of  the  world  when  we  were  aground  for  a  time  on 
the  shoals  of  the  Maison  Vauquer. — What  we  saw  there  was 
nothing.  Since  I  have  gone  into  higher  society,  I  have  seen 
monsters  dressed  in  satin,  Michonneaus  in  white  gloves, 
Poirets  bedizened  with  orders,  fine  gentlemen  doing  more 
usurious  business  than  old  Gobseck !  To  the  shame  of  man- 
kind, when  I  have  wanted  to  shake  hands  with  Virtue,  I  have 
found  her  shivering  in  a  loft,  persecuted  by  calumny,  half- 
starving  on  an  income  or  a  salary  of  fifteen  hundred  francs 
a  year,  and  regarded  as  crazy,  or  eccentric,  or  imbecile. 

"In  short,  my  dear  boy,  the  Marquise  is  a  woman  of 
fashion,  and  I  have  a  particular  horror  of  that  kind  of 
woman.  Do  you  want  to  know  why?  A  woman  who  has  a 
lofty  soul,  fine  taste,  gentle  wit,  a  generously  warm  heart,  and 
who  lives  a  simple  life,  has  not  a  chance  of  being  the  fashion. 
Ergo:  A  woman  of  fashion  and  a  man  in  power  are  analo- 
gous; but  there  is  this  difference:  the  qualities  by  which  a 
man  raises  himself  above  others  ennoble  him  and  are  a  glory 
to  him ;  whereas  the  qualities  by  which  a  woman  gains  power 
for  a  day  are  hideous  vices ;  she  belies  her  nature  to  hi»le  her 
character,  and  to  live  the  militant  life  of  the  world  she  must 
have  iron  strength  under  a  frail  appearance. 

"I,  as  a  physician,  know  that  a  sound  stomach  excludes  a 
good  heart.  Your  woman  of  fashion  feels  nothing;  her  rage 
for  pleasure  has  its  source  in  a  longing  to  heat  up  her  cold 
nature,  a  craving  for  excitement  and  enjoyment,  like  an  old 
man  who  stands  night  after  night  by  the  footlights  at  the 
opera.  As  she  has  more  brain  than  heart,  she  sacrifices 
genuine  passion  and  true  friends  to  her  triumph,  as  a  gen- 
eral sends  his  most  devoted  subalterns  to  the  front  in  order 
to  win  a  battle.  The  woman  of  fashion  ceases  to  be  a  woman ; 
she  is  neither  mother,  nor  wife,  nor  lover.  She  is,  medically 
speaking,  sex  in  the  brain.  And  your  Marquise,  too,  has  all 
the  characteristics  of  her  monstrosity,  the  beak  of  a  bird  of 


307 

prey,  the  clear,  cold  eye,  the  gentle  voice — she  is  as  polished 
as  the  steel  of  a  machine,  she  touches  everything  except  the 
heart." 

"There  is  some  truth  in  what  you  say,  Bianchon." 

"Some  truth?"  replied  Bianchon.  "It  is  all  true.  Do  you 
suppose  that  I  was  not  struck  to  the  heart  by  the  insulting 
politeness  by  which  she  made  me  measure  the  imaginary  dis- 
tance which  her  noble  birth  sets  between  us?  That  I  did 
not  feel  the  deepest  pity  for  her  cat-like  civilities  when  I  re- 
membered what  her  object  was?  A  year  hence  she  will  not 
write  one  word  to  do  me  the  slightest  service,  and  this  even- 
ing she  pelted  me  with  smiles,  believing  that  I  can  influence 
my  uncle  Popinot,  on  whom  the  success  of  her  case " 

"Would  you  rather  she  should  have  played  the  fool  with 
you,  my  dear  fellow? — I  accept  your  diatribe  against  women 
of  fashion;  but  you  are  beside  the  mark.  I  should  always 
prefer  for  a  wife  a  Marquise  d'Espard  to  the  most  devout 
and  devoted  creature  on  earth.  Marry  an  angel !  you  would 
have  to  go  and  bury  your  happiness  in  the  depths  of  the  coun- 
try !  The  wife  of  a  politician  is  a  governing  machine,  a  con- 
trivance that  makes  compliments  and  courtesies.  She  is  the 
most  important  and  most  faithful  tool  which  an  ambitious 
man  can  use;  a  friend,  in  short,  who  may  compromise  her- 
self without  mischief,  and  whom  he  may  belie  without  harm- 
ful results.  Fancy  Mahomet  in  Paris  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury !  His  wife  would  be  a  Rohan,  a  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse 
of  the  Fronde,  as  keen  and  as  flattering  as  an  Ambassadress, 
as  wily  as  Figaro.  Your  loving  wives  lead  nowhere ;  a  woman 
of  the  world  leads  to  everything;  she  is  the  diamond  with 
which  a  man  cuts  every  window  when  he  has  not  the  golden 
key  which  unlocks  every  door.  Leave  humdrum  virtues  to 
the  humdrum,  ambitious  vices  to  the  ambitious. 

"Besides,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you  imagine  that  the  love  of  a 
Duchesse  de  Langeais,  or  de  Maufrigneuse,  or  of  a  Lady 
Dudley  does  not  bestow  immense  pleasure  ?  If  only  you  knew 
how  much  value  the  cold,  severe  style  of  such  women  gives 
to  the  smallest  evidence  of  their  affection !  What  a  delight 


308  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

it  is  to  see  a  periwinkle  piercing  through  the  snow !  A  smile 
from  below  a  fan  contradicts  the  reserve  of  an  assumed  at- 
titude, and  is  worth  all  the  unbridled  tenderness  of  your 
middle-class  women  with  their  mortgaged  devotion;  for,  in 
love,  devotion  is  nearly  akin  to  speculation. 

"And,  then,  a  woman  of  fashion,  a  Blamont-Chauvry,  has 
her  virtues  too!  Her  virtues  are  fortune,  power,  effect,  a 
certain  contempt  of  all  that  is  beneath  her " 

"Thank  you !"  said  Bianchon. 

"Old  curmudgeon!"  said  Eastignac,  laughing.  "Come — 
do  not  be  common ;  do  like  your  friend  Desplein ;  be  a  Baron, 
a  Knight  of  Saint-Michael;  become  a  peer  of  France,  and 
marry  your  daughters  to  dukes." 

"I !  May  the  five  hundred  thousand  devils " 

"Come,  come !  Can  you  be  superior  only  in  medicine  ? 
Really,  you  distress  me  .  .  ." 

"I  hate  that  sort  of  people;  I  long  for  a  revolution  to  de- 
liver us  from  them  for  ever." 

"And  so,  my  dear  Robespierre  of  the  lancet,  you  will  not 
go  to-morrow  to  your  uncle  Popinot  ?" 

"Yes,  I  will,"  said  Bianchon ;  "for  you  I  would  go  to  hell 
to  fetch  water  .  .  ." 

"My  good  friend,  you  really  touch  me.  I  have  sworn  that 
a  commission  shall  sit  on  the  Marquis.  Why,  here  is  even 
a  long-saved  tear  to  thank  you." 

"But,"  Bianchon  went  on,  "I  do  not  promise  to  succeed 
as  you  wish  with  Jean-Jules  Popinot.  You  do  not  know 
him.  However,  I  will  take  him  to  see  your  Marquise  the  day 
after  to-morrow ;  she  may  get  round  him  if  she  can.  I  doubt 
it.  If  all  the  truffles,  all  the  Duchesses,  all  the  mistresses, 
and  all  the  charmers  in  Paris  were  there  in  the  full  bloom 
of  their  beauty;  if  the  King  promised  him  the  prairie,  and 
the  Almighty  gave  him  the  Order  of  Paradise  with  the  reve- 
nues of  Purgatory,  not  one  of  all  these  powers  would  induce 
him  to  transfer  a  single  straw  from  one  saucer  of  his  scales 
into  the  other.  He  is  a  judge,  as  Death  is  Death." 

The  two  friends  had  reached  the  office  of  the  Minister  for 


SHE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  309 

Foreign  Affairs,  at  the  corner  of  the  Boulevard  des  Capu- 
cines. 

"Here  you  are  at  home,"  said  Bianchon,  laughing,  as  he 
pointed  to  the  ministerial  residence.  "And  here  is  my  car- 
riage," he  added,  calling  a  hackney  cab.  "And  these — ex- 
press our  fortune." 

"You  will  be  happy  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  while  I  am 
still  struggling  with  the  tempests  on  the  surface,  till  I  sink 
and  go  to  ask  you  for  a  corner  in  your  grotto,  old  fellow !" 

"Till  Saturday,"  replied  Bianchon. 

"Agreed,"  said  Rastignac.  "And  you  promise  me  Popi- 
not?" 

"I  will  do  all  my  conscience  will  allow.  Perhaps  this  ap- 
peal for  a  commission  covers  some  little  dramorama,  to  use  a 
word  of  our  good  bad  times." 

"Poor  Bianchon !  he  will  never  be  anything  but  a  good  fel- 
low," said  Rastignac  to  himself  as  the  cab  drove  off. 

"Rastignac  has  given  me  the  most  difficult  negotiation  in 
the  world,"  said  Bianchon  to  himself,  remembering,  as  he 
rose  next  morning,  the  delicate  commission  intrusted  to  him. 
"However,  I  have  never  asked  the  smallest  service  from  my 
uncle  in  Court,  and  have  paid  more  than  a  thousand  visits 
gratis  for  him.  And,  after  all,  we  are  not  apt  to  mince  mat- 
ters between  ourselves.  He  will  say  Yes  or  No,  and  there  an 
end." 

After  this  little  soliloquy  the  famous  physician  bent  his 
steps,  at  seven  in  the  morning,  towards  the  Rue  du  Fouarre, 
where  dwelt  Monsieur  Jean-Jules  Popinot,  judge  of  the 
Lower  Court  of  the  Department  of  the  Seine.  The  Rue  du 
Fouarre — an  old  word  meaning  straw — was  in  the  thirteenth 
century  the  most  important  street  in  Paris.  There  stood  the 
Schools  of  the  University,  where  the  voices  of  Abelard  and 
of  Gerson  were  heard  in  the  world  of  learning.  It  is  now 
one  of  the  dirtiest  streets  of  the  Twelfth  Arrondissement, 
the  poorest  quarter  of  Paris,  that  in  which  two-thirds  of  the 
population  lack  firing  in  winter,  which  leaves  most  brats  at 


310  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

the  gate  of  the  Foundling  Hospital,  which  sends  most  beg- 
gars to  the  poorhouse,  most  rag-pickers  to  the  street  corners, 
most  decrepit  old  folks  to  bask  against  the  walls  on  which 
the  sun  shines,  most  delinquents  to  the  police  courts. 

Half-way  down  this  street,  which  is  always  damp,  and  where 
the  gutter  carries  to  the  Seine  the  blackened  waters  from 
some  dye-works,  there  is  an  old  house,  restored  no  doubt 
under  Francis  I.,  and  built  of  bricks  held  together  by  a  few 
courses  of  masonry.  That  it  is  substantial  seems  proved  by 
the  shape  of  its  front  wall,  not  uncommonly  seen  in  some 
parts  of  Paris.  It  bellies,  so  to  speak,  in  a  manner  caused 
by  the  protuberance  of  its  first  floor,  crushed  under  the  weight 
of  the  second  and  third,  but  upheld  by  the  strong  wall  of  the 
ground  floor.  At  first  sight  it  would  seem  as  though  the 
piers  between  the  windows,  though  strengthened  by  the  stone 
mullions,  must  give  way ,  but  the  observer  presently  perceives 
that,  as  in  the  tower  at  Bologna,  the  old  bricks  and  old  time- 
eaten  stones  of  this  house  persistently  preserve  their  centre  of 
gravity. 

At  every  season  of  the  year  the  solid  piers  of  the  ground 
floor  have  the  yellow  tone  and  the  imperceptible  sweating  sur- 
face that  moisture  gives  to  stone.  The  passer-by  feels  chilled 
as  he  walks  close  to  this  wall,  where  worn  corner-stones  in- 
effectually shelter  him  from  the  wheels  of  vehicles.  As  is 
always  the  case  in  houses  built  before  carriages  were  in  use, 
the  vault  of  the  doorway  forms  a  very  low  archway  not  unlike 
the  barbican  of  a  prison.  To  the  right  of  this  entrance  there 
are  three  windows,  protected  outside  by  iron  gratings  of  so 
close  a  pattern,  that  the  curious  cannot  possibly  see  the  use 
made  of  the  dark,  damp  rooms  within,  and  the  panes  too 
are  dirty  and  dusty;  to  the  left  are  two  similar  windows,  one 
of  which  is  sometimes  open,  exposing  to  view  the  porter, 
his  wife,  and  his  children ;  swarming,  working,  cooking,  eat- 
ing, and  screaming,  in  a  floored  and  wainscoted  room  where 
everything  is  dropping  to  pieces,  and  into  which  you  descend 
two  steps — a  depth  which  seems  to  suggest  the  gradual  eleva- 
tion of  the  soil  of  Paris. 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  311 

If  on  a  rainy  day  some  foot-passenger  takes  refuge  under 
the  long  vault,  with  projecting  lime-washed  beams,  which 
leads  from  the  door  to  the  staircase,  he  will  hardly  fail  to 
pause  and  look  at  the  picture  presented  by  the  interior  of 
this  house.  To  the  left  is  a  square  garden-plot,  allowing  of  not 
more  than  four  long  steps  in  each  direction,  a  garden  of  black 
soil,  with  trellises  bereft  of  vines,  and  where,  in  default  of 
vegetation  under  the  shade  of  two  trees,  papers  collect,  old 
rags,  potsherds,  bits  of  mortar  fallen  from  the  roof ;  a  barren 
ground,  where  time  has  shed  on  the  walls,  and  on  the  trunks 
and  branches  of  the  trees,  a  powdery  deposit  like  cold  soot. 
The  two  parts  of  the  house,  set  at  a  right  angle,  derive  light 
from  this  garden-court  shut  in  by  two  adjoining  houses  built 
on  wooden  piers,  decrepit  and  ready  to  fall,  where  on  each 
floor  some  grotesque  evidence  is  to  be  seen  of  the  craft  pur- 
sued by  the  lodger  within.  Here  long  poles  are  hung  with 
immense  skeins  of  dyed  worsted  put  out  to  dry;  there,  on 
ropes,  dance  clean- washed  shirts ;  higher  up,  on  a  shelf,  vol- 
umes display  their  freshly  marbled  edges;  women  sing,  hus- 
bands whistle,  children  shout ;  the  carpenter  saws  his  planks, 
a  copper-turner  makes  the  metal  screech ;  all  kinds  of  indus- 
tries combine  to  produce  a  noise  which  the  number  of  instru- 
ments renders  distracting. 

The  general  system  of  decoration  in  this  passage,  which  is 
neither  courtyard,  garden,  nor  vaulted  way,  though  a  little 
of  all,  consists  of  wooden  pillars  resting  on  square  stone 
blocks,  and  forming  arches.  Two  archways  open  on  to  the 
little  garden ;  two  others,  facing  the  front  gateway,  lead  to  a 
wooden  staircase,  with  an  iron  balustrade  that  was  once  a 
miracle  of  smith's  work,  so  whimsical  are  the  shapes  given 
to  the  metal ;  the  worn  steps  creak  under  every  tread.  The 
entrance  to  each  flat  has  an  architrave  dark  with  dirt,  grease, 
and  dust,  and  outer  doors,  covered  with  Utrecht  velvet  set 
with  brass  nails,  once  gilt,  in  a  diamond  pattern.  These  relics 
of  splendor  show  that  in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  the  house 
was  the  residence  of  some  Councillor  to  the  Parlement,  some 
rich  priests,  or  some  treasurer  of  the  ecclesiastical  revenue. 


312  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

But  these  vestiges  of  former  luxury  bring  a  smile  to  the  lips 
by  the  artless  contrast  of  past  and  present. 

M.  Jean-Jules  Popinot  lived  on  the  first  floor  of  this  house, 
where  the  gloom,  natural  to  all  first  floors  in  Paris  houses, 
was  increased  by  the  narrowness  of  the  street.  This  old 
tenement  was  known  to  all  the  twelfth  arrondissement,  on 
which  Providence  had  bestowed  this  lawyer,  as  it  gives  a 
beneficent  plant  to  cure  or  alleviate  every  malady.  Here  is  a 
sketch  of  a  man  whom  the  brilliant  Marquise  d'Espard  hoped 
to  fascinate. 

M..  Popinot,  as  is  seemly  for  a  magistrate,  was  always 
dressed  in  black — a  style  which  contributed  to  make  him 
ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  were  in  the  habit  of  judg- 
ing everything  from  a  superficial  examination.  Men  who  are 
jealous  of  maintaining  the  dignity  required  by  this  color 
ought  to  devote  themselves  to  constant  and  minute  care  of 
their  person ;  but  our  dear  M.  Popinot  was  incapable  of  forc- 
ing himself  to  the  puritanical  cleanliness  which  black  de- 
mands. His  trousers,  always  threadbare,  looked  like  camlet 
— the  stuff  of  which  attorneys'  gowns  are  made;  and  his 
habitual  stoop  set  them,  in  time,  in  such  innumerable  creases, 
that  in  places  they  were  traced  with  lines,  whitish,  rusty,  or 
shiny,  betraying  either  sordid  avarice,  or  the  most  unheeding 
poverty.  His  coarse  worsted  stockings  were  twisted  anyhow 
in  his  ill-shaped  shoes.  His  linen  had  the  tawny  tinge 
acquired  by  long  sojourn  in  a  wardrobe,  showing  that  the'  late 
lamented  Madame  Popinot  had  had  a  mania  for  much  linen ; 
in  the  Flemish  fashion,  perhaps,  she  had  given  herself  the 
trouble  of  a  great  wash  no  more  than  twice  a  year.  The  old 
man's  coat  and  waistcoat  were  in  harmony  with  his  trousers, 
shoes,  stockings,  and  linen.  He  always  had  the  luck  of  his 
carelessness;  for,  the  first  day  he  put  on  a  new  coat,  he  un- 
failingly matched  it  with  the  rest  of  his  costume  by  staining 
it  with  incredible  promptitude.  The  good  man  waited  till 
his  housekeeper  told  him  that  his  hat  was  too  shabby  before 
buying  a  new  one.  His  necktie  was  always  crumpled  and 
starchless,  and  he  never  set  his  dog-eared  shirt  collar  straight 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  31? 

after  his  judge's  bands  had  disordered  it.  He  took  no  care  of 
his  gray  hair,  and  shaved  but  twice  a  week.  He  never  wore 
gloves,  and  generally  kept  his  hands  stuffed  into  his  empty 
trousers'  pockets;  the  soiled  pocket-holes,  almost  always  tora, 
added  a  final  touch  to  the  slovenliness  of  his  person. 

Any  one  who  knows  the  Palais  de  Justice  at  Paris,  where 
every  variety  of  black  attire  may  be  studied,  can  easily 
imagine  the  appearance  of  M.  Popinot.  The  habit  of  sitting 
for  days  at  a  time  modifies  the  structure  of  the  body,  just  as 
the  fatigue  of  hearing  interminable  pleadings  tells  on  the  ex- 
pression of  a  magistrate's  face.  Shut  up  as  he  is  in  courts 
ridiculously  small,  devoid  of  architectural  dignity,  and  where 
the  air  is  quickly  vitiated,  a  Paris  judge  inevitably  acquires 
a  countenance  puckered  and  seamed  by  reflection,  and  de- 
pressed by  weariness;  his  complexion  turns  pallid,  acquiring 
an  earthy  or  greenish  hue  according  to  his  individual  tem- 
perament. In  short,  within  a  given  time  the  most  blooming 
young  man  is  turned  into  an  "inasmuch"  machine — an  in- 
strument which  applies  the  Code  to  individual  cases  with  the 
indifference  of  clockwork. 

Hence,  nature  having  bestowed  on  M.  Popinot  a  not  too 
pleasing  exterior,  his  life  as  a  lawyer  had  not  improved  it. 
His.  frame  was  graceless  and  angular.  His  thick  knees,  huge 
feet,  and  broad  hands  formed  a  contrast  with  a  priest-like 
face  having  a  vague  resemblance  to  a  calf's  head,  meek  to 
unmeaningness,  and  but  little  brightened  by  divergent, 
bloodless  eyes,  divided  by  a  straight  flat  nose,  surmounted  by 
a  flat  forehead,  flanked  by  enormous  ears,  flabby  and  grace- 
less. His  thin,  weak  hair  showed  the  baldness  through 
various  irregular  partings. 

One  feature  only  commended  this  face  to  the  physiog- 
nomist. This  man  had  a  mouth  to  whose  lips  divine  kind- 
ness lent  its  sweetness.  They  were  wholesome,  full,  red  lips, 
finely  wrinkled,  sinuous,  mobile,  by  which  nature  had  given 
expression  to  noble  feelings;  lips  which  spoke  to  the  heart 
and  proclaimed  the  man's  intelligence  and  lucidity,  a  gift 
of  second-sight,  and  a  heavenly  temper;  and  you  would  have 


314  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

judged  him  wrongly  from  looking  merely  at  his  sloping  fore- 
head, his  fireless  eyes,  and  his  shambling  gait.  His  life  an- 
swered to  his  countenance;  it  was  full  of  secret  labor,  and 
hid  the  virtue  of  a  saint.  His  superior  knowledge  of  law 
proved  so  strong  a  recommendation  at  the  time  when  Na- 
poleon was  reorganizing  it  in  1808  and  1811,  that,  by  the 
advice  of  Cambaceres,  he  was  one  of  the  first  men  named  to 
sit  on  the  Imperial  High  Court  of  Justice  at  Paris.  Popi- 
not  was  no  schemer.  Whenever  any  demand  was  made,  any 
request  preferred  for  an  appointment,  the  Minister  would 
overlook  Popinot,  who  never  set  foot  in  the  house  of  the 
High  Chancellor  or  the  Chief  Justice.  From  the  High  Court 
he  was  sent  down  to  the  Common  Court,  and  pushed  to  the 
lowest  rung  of  the  ladder  by  active  struggling  men.  There 
he  was  appointed  supernumerary  judge.  There  was  a  general 
outcry  among  the  lawyers:  "Popinot  a  supernumerary!" 
Such  injustice  struck  the  legal  world  with  dismay — the  at- 
torneys, the  registrars,  everybody  but  Popinot  himself,  who 
made  no  complaint.  The  first  clamor  over,  everybody  was 
satisfied  that  all  was  for  the  best  in  the  best  of  all  possible 
worlds,  which  must  certainly  be  the  legal  world.  Popinot 
remained  supernumerary  judge  till  the  day  when  the  most 
famous  Great  Seal  under  the  Eestoration  avenged  the  over- 
sights heaped  on  this  modest  and  uncomplaining  man  by  the 
Chief  Justices  of  the  Empire.  After  being  a  supernumerary 
for  twelve  years,  M.  Popinot  would  no  doubt  die  a  puisne 
judge  of  the  Court  of  the  Seine. 

To  account  for  the  obscure  fortunes  of  one  of  the  superior 
men  of  the  legal  profession,  it  is  necessary  to  enter  here  into 
some  details  which  will  serve  to  reveal  his  life  and  character, 
and  which  will,  at  the  same  time,  display  some  of  the  wheels 
of  the  great  machine  known  as  Justice.  M.  Popinot  was 
classed  by  the  three  Presidents  who  successively  controlled 
the  Court  of  the  Seine  under  the  category  of  possible  judges, 
the  stuff  of  which  judges  are  made.  Thus  classified,  he  did 
not  achieve  the  reputation  for  capacity  which  his  previous 
labors  had  deserved.  Just  as  a  painter  is  invariably  included 


215 

in  a  category  as  a  landscape  painter,  a  portrait  painter,  a 
painter  of  history,  of  sea  pieces,  or  of  genre,  by  a  public  con- 
sisting of  artists,  connoisseurs,  and  simpletons,  who^  out  of 
envy,  or  critical  omnipotence,  or  prejudice,  fence  in  his  in- 
tellect, assuming,  one  and  all,  that  there  are  ganglions  in 
every  brain — a  narrow  judgment  which  the  world  applies  to 
writers,  tcr  statesmen,  to  everybody  who  begins  with  some 
specialty  before  being  hailed  as  omniscient;  so  Popinot's 
fate  was  sealed,  and  he  was  hedged  round  to  do  a  particular 
kind  of  work.  Magistrates,  attorneys,  pleaders,  all  who  past- 
ure on  the  legal  common,  distinguish  two  elements  in  every 
case — law  and  equity.  Equity  is  the  outcome  of  facts,  law 
is  the  application  of  principles  to  facts.  A  man  may  be  right 
in  equity  but  wrong  in  law,  without  any  blame  to  the  judge. 
Between  his  conscience  and  the  facts  there  is  a  whole  gulf 
of  determining  reasons  unknown  to  the  judge,  but  which  con- 
demn or  legitimatize  the  act.  A  judge  is  not  God ;  his  duty 
is  to  adapt  facts  to  principles,  to  judge  cases  of  infinite  va- 
riety while  measuring  them  by  a  fixed  standard. 

France  employs  about  six  thousand  judges;  no  generation 
has  six  thousand  great  men  at  her  command,  much  less  can 
she  find  them  in  the  legal  profession.  Popinot,  in  the  midst 
of  the  civilization  of  Paris,  was  just  a  very  clever  cadi,  who, 
by  the  character  of  his  mind,  and  by  dint  of  rubbing  the 
letter  of  the  law  into  the  essence  of  facts,  had  learned  to  see 
the  error  of  spontaneous  and  violent  decisions.  By  the  help 
of  his  judicial  second-sight  he  could  pierce  the  double  casing 
of  lies  in  which  advocates  hide  the  heart  of  a  trial.  He  was 
a  judge,  as  the  great  Desplein  was  a  surgeon ;  he  probed  men's 
consciences  as  the  anatomist  probed  their  bodies.  His  life 
and  habits  had  led  him  to  an  exact  appreciation  of  their  most 
secret  thoughts  by  a  thorough  study  of  facts. 

He  sifted  a  case  as  Cuvier  sifted  the  earth's  crust.  Like 
that  great  thinker,  he  proceeded  from  deduction  to  deduction 
before  drawing  his  conclusions,  and  reconstructed  the 
past  career  of  a  conscience  as  Cuvier  reconstructed  an  Ano- 
plotherium.  When  considering  8  brief  he  would  often  wake 


316  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

in  the  night,  startled  by  a  gleam  of  truth  suddenly  sparkling 
in  his  brain.  Struck  by  the  deep  injustice,  which  is  the  end 
of  these  contests,  in  which  everything  is  against  the  honest 
man,  everything  to  the  advantage  of  the  rogue,  he  often 
summed  up  in  favor  of  equity  against  law  in  such  cases  as 
bore  on  questions  of  what  may  be  termed  divination.  Hence 
he  was  regarded  by  his  colleagues  as  a  man  not  of  a  practical 
mind;  his  arguments  on  two  lines  of  deduction  made  their 
deliberations  lengthy.  When  Popinot  observed  their  dislike 
to  listening  to  him  he  gave  his  opinion  briefly;  it  was  said 
that  he  was  not  a  good  judge  in  this  class  of  cases ;  but  as  his 
gift  of  discrimination  was  remarkable,  his  opinion  lucid,  and 
his  penetration  profound,  he  was  considered  to  have  a  special 
aptitude  for  the  laborious  duties  of  an  examining  judge.  So 
an  examining  judge  he  remained  during  the  greater  part  of 
his  legal  career. 

Although  his  qualifications  made  him  eminently  fitted  for 
its  difficult  functions,  and  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  so 
learned  in  criminal  law  that  his  duty  was  a  pleasure  to  him, 
the  kindness  of  his  heart  constantly  kept  him  in  torture,  and 
he  was  nipped  as  in  a  vise  between  his  conscience  and  his  pity. 
The  services  of  an  examining  judge  are  better  paid  than  those 
of  a  judge  in  civil  actions,  but  they  do  not  therefore  prove  a 
temptation ;  they  are  too  onerous.  Popinot,  a  man  of  modest 
and  virtuous  learning,  without  ambition,  an  indefatigable 
worker,  never  complained  of  his  fate;  he  sacrificed  his  tastes 
and  his  compassionate  soul  to  the  public  good, and  allowed  him- 
self to  be  transported  to  the  noisome  pools  of  criminal  examina- 
tions, where  he  showed  himself  alike  severe  and  beneficent.  His 
clerk  sometimes  would  give  the  accused  some  money  to  buy 
tobacco,  or  a  warm  winter  garment,  as  he  led  him  back  from 
the  judge's  office  to  the  Souriciere,  the  mouse-trap — the 
House  of  Detention  where  the  accused  are  kept  under  the 
orders  of  the  Examining  Judge.  He  knew  how  to  be  an  in- 
flexible judge  and  a  charitable  man.  And  no  one  extracted 
a  confession  so  easily  as  he  without  having  recourse  to  judicial 
trickery.  He  had,  too,  all  the  acumen  of  an  observer.  This 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  317 

man,  apparently  so  foolishly  good-natured,  simple,  and  ab- 
sent-minded, could  guess  all  the  cunning  of  a  prison  wag, 
unmask  the  astutest  street  huzzy,  and  subdue  a  scoundrel. 
Unusual  circumstances  had  sharpened  his  perspicacity;  but 
to  relate  these  we  must  intrude  on  his  domestic  history,  for 
in  him  the  judge  was  the  social  side  of  the  man;  another 
man,  greater  and  less  known,  existed  within. 

Twelve  years  before  the  beginning  of  this  story,  in  1816, 
during  the  terrible  scarcity  which  coincided  disastrously  with 
the  stay  in  France  of  the  so-called  Allies,  Popinot  was  ap- 
pointed President  of  the  Commission  Extraordinary  formed 
to  distribute  food  to  the  poor  of  his  neighborhood,  just  when 
he  had  planned  to  move  from  the  Eue  du  Fouarre,  which  he 
as  little  liked  to  live  in  as  his  wife  did.  The  great  lawyer, 
the  clear-sighted  criminal  judge,  whose  superiority  seemed  to 
his  colleagues  a  form  of  aberration,  had  for  five  years  been 
watching  legal  results  without  seeing  their  causes.  As  he 
scrambled  up  into  lofts,  as  he  saw  the  poverty,  as  he  studied 
the  desperate  necessities  which  gradually  bring  the  poor  to 
criminal  acts,  as  he  estimated  their  long  struggles,  compas- 
sion filled  his  soul  The  judge  then  became  the  Saint  Vincent 
de  Paul  of  these  grown-up  children,  these  suffering  toilers. 
The  transformation  was  not  immediately  complete.  Benefi- 
cence has  its  temptations  as  vice  has.  Charity  consumes  a 
saint's  purse,  as  roulette  consumes  the  possessions  of  a  gam- 
bler, quite  gradually.  Popinot  went  from  misery  to  misery, 
from  charity  to  charity;  then,  by  the  time  he  had  lifted 
all  the  rags  which  cover  public  pauperism,  like  a  bandage 
under  which  an  inflamed  wound  lies  festering,  at  the  end 
of  a  year  he  had  become  the  Providence  incarnate  of  that 
quarter  of  the  town.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Benevolent 
Committee  and  of  the  Charity  Organization.  Wherever  any 
gratuitous  services  were  needed  he  was  ready,  and  did  every- 
thing without  fuss,  like  the  man  with  the  short  cloak,  who 
spends  his  life  in  carrying  soup  round  the  markets  and  other 
places  where  there  are  starving  folks. 

Popinot  was  fortunate  in  acting  on  a  larger  circle  and  in 


318  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

a  higher  sphere;  he  had  an  eye  on  everything,  he  prevented 
crime,  he  gave  work  to  the  unemployed,  he  found  a  refuge 
for  the  helpless,  he  distributed  aid  with  discernment  wherever 
danger  threatened,  he  made  himself  the  counselor  of  the 
widow,  the  protector  of  homeless  children,  the  sleeping  part- 
ner of  small  traders.  No  one  at  the  Courts,  no  one  in  Paris, 
knew  of  this  secret  life  of  Popinot's.  There  are  virtues  so 
splendid  that  they  necessitate  obscurity;  men  make  haste  to 
hide  them  under  a  bushel.  As  to  those  whom  the  lawyer  suc- 
cored, they,  hard  at  work  all  day  and  tired  at  night,  were 
little  able  to  sing  his  praises ;  theirs  was  the  gracelessness  of 
children,  who  can  never  pay  because  they  owe  too  much. 
There  is  such  compulsory  ingratitude;  but  what  heart  that 
has  sown  good  to  reap  gratitude  can  think  itself  great  ? 

By  the  end  of  the  second  year  of  his  apostolic  work,  Popi- 
not  had  turned  the  storeroom  at  the  bottom  of  his  house  into 
a  parlor,  lighted  by  the  three  iron-barred  windows.  The 
walls  and  ceiling  of  this  spacious  room  were  whitewashed, 
and  the  furniture  consisted  of  wooden  benches  like  those  seen 
in  schools,  a  clumsy  cupboard,  a  walnut-wood  writing-table, 
and  an  armchair.  In  the  cupboard  were  his  registers  of 
donations,  his  tickets  for  orders  for  bread,  and  his  diary.  He 
kept  his  ledger  like  a  tradesman,  that  he  might  not  be  ruined 
by  kindness.  All  the  sorrows  of  the  neighborhood  were  en- 
tered and  numbered  in  a  book,  where  each  had  its  little  ac- 
count, as  merchants'  customers  have  theirs.  When  there  was 
any  question  as  to  a  man  or  a  family  needing  help,  the  law- 
yer could  always  command  information  from  the  police. 

Lavienne,  a  man  made  for  his  master,  was  his  aide-de- 
camp. He  redeemed  or  renewed  pawn-tickets,  and  visited  the 
districts  most  threatened  with  famine,  while  his  master  was 
in  court. 

From  four  till  seven  in  the  morning  in  summer,  from  six 
till  nine  in  winter,  this  room  was  full  of  women,  children, 
and  paupers,  while  Popinot  gave  audience.  There  was  no 
need  for  a  stove  in  winter;  the  crowd  was  so  dense  that  the 
air  was  warmed;  only,  Lavienne  strewed  straw  on  the  wet 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  310 

floor.  By  long  use  the  benches  were  as  polished  as  varnished 
mahogany;  at  the  height  of  a  man's  shoulders  the  wall  had 
a  coat  of  dark,  indescribable  color,  given  to  it  by  the  rags  and 
tattered  clothes  of  these  poor  creatures.  The  poor  wretches 
loved  Popinot  so  well  that  when  they  assembled  before  his 
door  was  opened,  before  daybreak  on  a  winter's  morning,  the 
women  warming  themselves  with  their  foot-brasiers,  the  men 
swinging  their  arms  for  circulation,  never  a  sound  had  dis- 
turbed his  sleep.  Eag-pickers  and  other  toilers  of  the  night 
knew  the  house,  and  often  saw  a  light  burning  in  the  lawyer's 
private  room  at  unholy  hours.  Even  thieves,  as  they  passed 
by,  said,  "That  is  his  house,"  and  respected  it.  The  morning 
he  gave  to  the  poor,  the  mid-day  hours  to  criminals,  the  even- 
ing to  law  work. 

Thus  the  gift  of  observation  that  characterized  Popinot 
was  necessarily  bifrons;  he  could  guess  the  virtues  of  a  pauper 
— good  -feelings  nipped,  fine  actions  in  embryo,  unrecognized 
self-sacrifice,  just  as  he  could  read  at  the  bottom  of  a  man's 
conscience  the  faintest  outlines  of  a  crime,  the  slenderest 
threads  of  wrongdoing,  and  infer  all  the  rest. 

Popinot's  inherited  fortune  was  a  thousand  crowns  a  year. 
His  wife,  sister  to  M.  Bianchon  senior,  a  doctor  at  Sancerre, 
had  brought  him  about  twice  as  much.  She,  dying  five  years 
since,  had  left  her  fortune  to  her  husband.  As  the  salary  of 
a  supernumerary  judge  is  not  large,  and  Popinot  had  been  a 
fully  salaried  judge  only  for  four  years,  we  may  guess  his  rea- 
sons for  parsimony  in  all  that  concerned  his  person  and  mode 
of  life,  when  we  consider  how  small  his  means  were  and  how 
great  his  beneficence.  Besides,  is  not  such  indifference  to 
dress  as  stamped  Popinot  an  absent-minded  man,  a  distin- 
guishing mark  of  scientific  attainment,  of  art  passionately 
pursued,  of  a  perpetually  active  mind?  To  complete  this 
portrait,  it  will  be  enough  to  add  that  Popinot  was  one  of 
the  few  judges  of  the  Court  of  the  Seine  on  whom  the  rib- 
bon of  the  Legion  of  Honor  had  not  been  conferred. 

Such  was  the  man  who  had  been  instructed  by  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Second  Chamber  of  the  Court — to  which  Popinot 
VOL.  7—43 


320  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

had  belonged  since  his  reinstatement  among  the  judges  in 
civil  law — to  examine  the  Marquis  d'Espard  at  the  request  of 
his  wife,  who  sued  for  a  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

The  Eue  du  Fouarre,  where  so  many  unhappy  wretches 
swarmed  in  the  early  morning,  would  be  deserted  by  nine 
o'clock,  and  as  gloomy  and  squalid  as  ever.  Bianchon  put 
his  horse  to  a  trot  in  order  to  find  his  uncle  in  the  midst  of 
his  business.  It  was  not  without  a  smile  that  he  thought  of 
the  curious  contrast  the  judge's  appearance  would  make  in 
Madame  d'Espard's  room;  but  he  promised  himself  that  he 
would  persuade  him  to  dress  in  a  way  that  should  not  be  too 
ridiculous. 

"If  only  my  uncle  happens  to  have  a  new  coat!"  said 
Bianchon  to  himself,  as  he  turned  into  the  Rue  du  Fouarre, 
where  a  pale  light  shone  from  the  parlor  windows.  "I  shall 
do  well,  I  believe,  to  talk  that  over  with  Lavienne." 

At  the  sound  of  wheels  half  a  score  of  startled  paupers 
came  out  from  under  the  gateway,  and  took  off  their  hats 
on  recognizing  Bianchon;  for  the  doctor,  who  treated  gra- 
tuitously the  sick  recommended  to  him  by  the  lawyer,  was 
not  less  well  known  than  he  to  the  poor  creatures  assembled 
there. 

Bianchon  found  his  uncle  in  the  middle  of  the  parlor, 
where  the  benches  were  occupied  by  patients  presenting  such 
grotesque  singularities  of  costume  as  would  have  made  the 
least  artistic  passer-by  turn,  round  to  gaze  at  them.  A 
draughtsman — a  Eembrandt,  if  there  were  one  in  our  day — 
might  have  conceived  of  one  of  his  finest  compositions  from 
seeing  these  children  of  misery,  in  artless  attitudes,  and  all 
silent. 

Here  was  the  rugged  countenance  of  an  old  man  with  a 
white  beard  and  an  apostolic  head — a  Saint  Peter  ready  to 
hand;  his  chest,  partly  uncovered,  showed  salient  muscles, 
the  evidence  of  an  iron  constitution  which  had  served  him 
as  a  fulcrum  to  resist  a  whole  poem  of  sorrows.  There  a 
young  woman  was  suckling  her  youngest-born  to  keep  it  from 
crying,  while  another  of  about  five  stood  between  her  knees. 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  321 

Her  white  bosom,  gleaming  amid  rags,  the  baby  with  its 
transparent  flesh-tints,  and  the  brother,  whose  attitude  prom- 
ised a  street  arab  in  the  future,  touched  the  fancy  with  pathos 
by  its  almost  graceful  contrast  with  the  long  row  of  faces 
crimson  with  cold,  in  the  midst  of  which  sat  this  family 
group.  Further  away,  an  old  woman,  pale  and  rigid,  had  the 
repulsive  look  of  rebellious  pauperism,  eager  to  avenge  all 
its  past  woes  in  one  day  of  violence. 

There,  again,  was  the  young  workman,  weakly  and  in- 
dolent, whose  brightly  intelligent  eye  revealed  fine  faculties 
crushed  by  necessity  struggled  with  in  vain,  saying  nothing 
of  his  sufferings,  and  nearly  dead  for  lack  of  an  opportunity 
to  squeeze  between  the  bars  of  the  vast  stews  where  the 
wretched  swim  round  and  round  and  devour  each  other. 

The  majority  were  women;  their  husbands,  gone  to  their 
work,  left  it  to  them,  no  doubt,  to  plead  the  cause  of  the 
family  with  the  ingenuity  which  characterizes  the  woman  of 
the  people,  who  is  almost  always  queen  in  her  hovel.  You 
would  have  seen  a  torn  bandana  on  every  head,  on  every  form 
a  skirt  deep  in  mud,  ragged  kerchiefs,  worn  and  dirty  jackets, 
but  eyes  that  burnt  like  live  coals.  It  was  a  horrible  assem- 
blage, raising  at  first  sight  a  feeling  of  disgust,  but  giving 
a  certain  sense  of  terror  the  instant  you  perceived  that  the 
resignation  of  these  souls,  all  engaged  in  the  struggle  for 
every  necessary  of  life,  was  purely  fortuitous,  a  speculation 
on  benevolence.  The  two  tallow  candles  which  lighted  the 
parlor  flickered  in  a  sort  of  fog  caused  by  the  fetid  atmos- 
phere of  the  ill-ventilated  room. 

The  magistrate  himself  was  not  the  least  picturesque  figure 
in  the  midst  of  this  assembly.  He  had  on  his  head  a  rusty 
cotton  night-cap;  as  he  had  no  cravat,  his  neck  was  visible, 
red  with  cold  and  wrinkled,  in  contrast  with  the  threadbare 
collar  of  his  old  dressing-gown.  His  worn  face  had  the  half- 
stupid  look  that  comes  of  absorbed  attention.  His  lips,  like 
those  of  all  men  who  work,  were  puckered  up  like  a  bag  with 
the  strings  drawn  tight.  His  knitted  brows  seemed  to  bear 
the  burden  of  all  the  sorrows  confided  to  him:  he  felt, 


322  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

analyzed,  and  judged  them  all.  As  watchful  as  a  Jew  money- 
lender, he  never  raised  his  eyes  from  his  books  and  regis- 
ter3  but  to  look  into  the  very  heart  of  the  persons  he  was 
examining,  with  the  flashing  glance  by  which  a  miser  ex- 
presses his  alarm. 

Lavienne,  s'tanding  behind  his  master,  ready  to  carry  out 
his  orders,  served  no  doubt  as  a  sort  of  police,  and  welcomed 
newcomers  by  encouraging  them  to  get  over  their  shyness. 
When  the  doctor  appeared  there  was  a  stir  on  the  benches. 
Lavienne  turned  his  head,  and  was  strangely  surprised  to  see 
Bianchon. 

"Ah !  It  is  you,  old  boy !"  exclaimed  Popinot,  stretching 
himself.  "What  brings  you  so  early?" 

"I  was  afraid  lest  you  should  make  an  official  visit  about 
which  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  before  I  could  see  you." 

"Well,"  said  the  lawyer,  addressing  a  stout  little  woman 
who  was  still  standing  close  to  him,  "if  you  do  not  tell  me 
what  it  is  you  want,  I  cannot  guess  it,  child." 

"Make  haste,"  said  Lavienne.  "Do  not  waste  other  people's 
time." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  woman  at  last,  turning  red,  and 
speaking  so  low  as  only  to  be  heard  by  Popinot  and  Lavienne, 
"I  have  a  green-grocery  truck,  and  I  have  my  last  baby  out  at 
nurse,  and  I  owe  for  his  keep.  Well,  I  had  hidden  my  little 
bit  of  money " 

"Yes ;  and  your  man  took  it  ?"  said  Popinot,  guessing  the 
sequel. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  is  your  name  ?" 

"La  Pomponne." 

"And  your  husband's?" 

"Toupinet." 

"Rue  du  Petit-Banquier  ?"  said  Popinot,  turning  over  his 
register.  "He  is  in  prison,"  he  added,  reading  a  note  at  the 
margin  of  the  section  in  which  this  family  was  described. 

"For  debt,  my  kind  monsieur." 

Popinot  shook  his  head. 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  323 

"But  I  have  nothing  to  buy  any  stock  for  my  truck;  the 
landlord  came  yesterday  and  made  me  pay  up;  otherwise  I 
should  have  been  turned  out." 

Lavienne  bent  over  his  master,  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"Well,  how  much  do  you  want  to  buy  fruit  in  the  mar- 
ket?" 

"Why,  my  good  monsieur,  to  carry  on  my  business,  I  should 
want — Yes,  I  should  certainly  want  ten  francs." 

Popinot  signed  to  Lavienne,  who  took  ten  francs  out  of 
a  large  bag,  and  handed  them  to  the  woman,  while  the  law- 
yer made  a  note  of  the  loan  in  his  ledger.  As  he  saw  the 
thrill  of  delight  that  made  the  poor  hawker  tremble,  Bian- 
chon  understood  the  apprehensions  that  must  have  agitated 
her  on  her  way  to  the  lawyer's  house. 

"You  next,"  said  Lavienne  to  the  old  man  with  the  white 
beard. 

Bianchon  drew  the  servant  aside,  and  asked  him  how  long 
this  audience  would  last. 

"Monsieur  has  had  two  hundred  persons  this  morning,  and 
there  are  eighty  to  be  turned  off,"  said  Lavienne.  "You  will 
have  time  to  pay  your  early  visit,  sir." 

"Here,  my  boy,"  said  the  lawyer,  turning  round  and  taking 
Horace  by  the  arm;  "here  are  two  addresses  near  this — one 
in  the  Eue  de  Seine,  and  the  other  in  the  Eue  de  1'Arbalete. 
Go  there  at  once.  Eue  de  Seine,  a  young  girl  has  just 
asphyxiated  herself;  and  Eue  de  1'Arbalete,  you  will  find  a 
man  to  remove  to  your  hospital.  I  will  wait  breakfast  for 
you." 

Bianchon  returned  an  hour  later.  The  Eue  du  Fouarre 
was  deserted ;  day  was  beginning  to  dawn  there ;  his  uncle 
had  gone  up  to  his  rooms ;  the  last  poor  wretch  whose  misery 
the  judge  had  relieved  was  departing,  and  Lavienne's  money 
bag  was  empty. 

"Well,  how  are  they  going  on?"  asked  the  old  lawyer,  as 
the  doctor  came  in. 

"The  man  is  dead,"  replied  Bianchon;  "the  girl  will  get 
over  it." 


324  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

Since  the  eye  and  hand  of  a  woman  had  been  lacking,  the 
flat  in  which  Popinot  lived  had  assumed  an  aspect  in  har- 
mony with  its  master's.  The  indifference  of  a  man  who  is 
absorbed  in  one  dominant  idea  had  set  its  stamp  of  eccen- 
tricity on  everything.  Everywhere  lay  unconquerable  dust, 
every  object  was  adapted  to  a  wrong  purpose  with  a  per- 
tinacity suggestive  of  a  bachelor's  home.  There  were  papers 
in  the  flower  vases,  empty  ink-bottles  on  the  tables,  plates 
that  had  been  forgotten,  matches  used  as  tapers  for  a  minute 
when  something  had  to  be  found,  drawers  or  boxes  half- 
turned  out  and  left  unfinished;  in  short,  all  the  confusion 
and  vacancies  resulting  from  plans  for  order  never  carried 
out.  The  lawyer's  private  room,  especially  disordered  by  this 
incessant  rummage,  bore  witness  to  his  unresting  pace,  the 
hurry  of  a  man  overwhelmed  with  business,  hunted  by  contra- 
dictory necessities.  The  bookcase  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
sacked;  there  were  books  scattered  over  everything,  some 
piled  up  open,  one  on  another,  others  on  the  floor  face  down- 
wards; registevs  of  proceedings  laid  on  the  floor  in  rows, 
lengthwise,  in  front  of  the  shelves;  and  that  floor  had  not 
been  polished  for  two  years. 

The  tables  and  shelves  were  covered  with  ex  votos,  the  of- 
ferings of  the  grateful  poor.  On  a  pair  of  blue  glass  jars 
which  ornamented  the  chimney-shelf  there  were  two  glass 
balls,  of  which  the  core  was  made  up  of  many-colored  frag- 
ments, giving  them  the  appearance  of  some  singular  natural 
product.  Against  the  wall  hung  frames  of  artificial  flowers, 
and  decorations  in  which  Popinot's  initials  were  surrounded 
by  hearts  and  everlasting  flowers.  Here  were  boxes  of 
elaborate  and  useless  cabinet  work;  there  letter-weights 
carved  in  the  style  of  work  done  by  convicts  in  penal  servi- 
tude. These  masterpieces  of  patience,  enigmas  of  gratitude, 
and  withered  bouquets  gave  the  lawyer's  room  the  appearance 
of  a  toyshop.  The  good  man  used  these  works  of  art  as  hid- 
ing-places which  he  filled  with  bills,  worn-out  pens,  and 
scraps  of  paper.  All  these  pathetic  witnesses  to  his  divine 
charity  were  thick  with  dust,  dingy,  and  faded. 


THE  COMMISSION7  IN  LUNACY  325 

Some  birds,  beautifully  stuffed,  but  eaten  by  moth,  perched 
in  this  wilderness  of  trumpery,  presided  over  by  an  Angora 
cat,  Madame  Popinot's  pet,  restored  to  her  no  doubt  with  all 
the  graces  of  life  by  some  impecunious  naturalist,  who  thus 
repaid  a  gift  of  charity  with  a  perennial  treasure.  Some  local 
artist  whose  heart  had  misguided  his  brush  had  painted  por- 
traits of  M.  and  Madame  Popinot.  Even  in  the  bedroom 
there  were  embroidered  pin-cushions,  landscapes  in  cross- 
stitch,  and  crosses  in  folded  paper,  so  elaborately  cockled  as 
to  show  the  senseless  labor  they  had  cost. 

The  window-curtains  were  black  with  smoke,  and  the  hang- 
ings absolutely  colorless.  Between  the  fireplace  and  the 
large  square  table  at  which  the  magistrate  worked,  the  cook 
had  set  two  cups  of  coffee  on  a  small  table,  and  two  armchairs, 
in  mahogany  and  horsehair,  awaited  the  uncle  and  nephew. 
As  daylight,  darkened  by  the  windows,  could  not  penetrate 
to  this  corner,  the  cook  had  left  two  dips  burning,  whose  un- 
snuffed  wicks  showed  a  sort  of  mushroom  growth,  giving  the 
red  light  which  promises  length  of  life  to  the  candle  from 
slowness  of  combustion — a  discovery  due  to  some  miser. 

"My  dear  uncle,  you  ought  to  wrap  yourself  more  warmly 
when  you  go  down  to  that  parlor." 

"I  cannot  bear  to  keep  them  waiting,  poor  souls ! — Well, 
and  what  do  you  want  of  me  ?" 

"I  have  come  to  ask  to  you  to  dine  to-morrow  with  the  Mar- 
quise d'Espard." 

"A  relation  of  ours?"  asked  Popinot,  with  such  genuine 
absence  of  mind  that  Bianchon  laughed. 

"No,  uncle ;  the  Marquise  d'Espard  is  a  high  and  puissant 
lady,  who  has  laid  before  the  Courts  a  petition  desiring  that 
a  Commission  in  Lunacy  should  sit  on  her  husband,  and 
you  are  appointed " 

"And  you  want  me  to  dine  with  her !  Are  you  mad  ?"  said 
the  lawyer,  taking  up  the  code  of  proceedings.  "Here,  only 
read  this  article,  prohibiting  any  magistrate's  eating  or  drink- 
ing in  the  house  of  either  of  two  parties  whom  he  is  called 
upon  to  decide  between.  Let  her  come  and  see  me,  your  Max- 


326  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

quise,  if  she  has  anything  to  say  to  me.  I  was,  in  fact.,  to  go 
to  examine  her  husband  to-morrow,  after  working  the  case 
up  to-night." 

He  rose,  took  up  a  packet  of  papers  that  lay  under  a  weight 
where  he  could  see  it,  and  after  reading  the  title,  he  said: 

"Here  is  the  affidavit.  Since  you  take  an  interest  in  this 
high  and  puissant  lady,  let  us  see  what  she  wants." 

Popinot  wrapped  his  dressing-gown  across  his  body,  from 
which  it  was  constantly  slipping  and  leaving  his  chest  bare; 
he  sopped  his  bread  in  the  half-cold  coffee,  and  opened  the 
petition,  which  he  read,  allowing  himself  to  throw  in  a  paren- 
thesis now  and  then,  and  some  discussions,  in  which  his 
nephew  took  part : — 

"  "To  Monsieur  the  President  of  the  Civil  Tribunal  of  the 
Lower  Court  of  the  Department  of  the  Seine,  sitting  at  the 
Palais  de  Justice. 

"  'Madame  Jeanne  Clementine  Athenais  de  Blamont- 
Chauvry,  wife  of  M.  Charles  Maurice  Marie  Andoche,  Comte 
de  Negrepelisse,  Marquis  d'Espard' — a  very  good  family — 
landowner,  the  said  Mme.  d'Espard  living  in  the  Rue  du 
Faubourg  Saint-Honore,  No.  104,  and  the  said  M.  d'Espard 
in  the  Eue  de  la  Montagne-Sainte-Genevieve,  No.  22,' — to 
be  sure,  the  President  told  me  he  lived  in  this  part  of  the 
town — 'having  for  her  solicitor  Maitre  Desroches' — Des- 
roches !  a  pettifogging  jobber,  a  man  looked  down  upon  by 
his  brother  lawyers,  and  who  does  his  clients  no  good 

"Poor  fellow !"  said  Bianchon,  "unluckily  he  has  no  money, 
and  he  rushes  round  like  the  devil  in  holy  water — That  is 
all." 

"  'Has  the  honor  to  submit  to  you,  Monsieur  the  President, 
that  for  a  year  past  the  moral  and  intellectual  powers  of  her 
husband,  M.  d'Espard,  have  undergone  so  serious  a  change, 
that  at  the  present  day  they  have  reached  the  state  of  de- 
mentia and  idiocy  provided  for  by  Article  448  of  the  Civil 
Code,  and  require  the  application  of  the  remedies  set  forth 
by  that  article,  for  the  security  of  his  fortune  and  his  person, 
and  to  guard  the  interest  of  his  children  whom  he  keeps  to 
live  with  him. 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY        -  327 

"  "That,  in  point  of  fact,  the  mental  condition  of  M. 
d'Espard,  which  for  some  years  has  given  grounds  for  alarm 
based  on  the  system  he  has  pursued  in  the  management  of  his 
affairs,  has  reached,  during  the  last  twelvemonth,  a  deplor- 
able depth  of  depression;  that  his  infirm  will  was  the  first 
thing  to  show  the  results  of  the  malady;  and  that  its  effete 
state  leaves  M.  the  Marquis  d'Espard  exposed  to  all  the  perils 
of  his  incompetency,  as  is  proved  by  the  following  facts : 

"  'For  a  long  time  all  the  income  accruing  from  M. 
d'Espard's  estates  are  paid,  without  any  reasonable  cause, 
or  even  temporary  advantage,  into  the  hands  of  an  old  woman, 
whose  repulsive  ugliness  is  generally  remarked  on,  named 
Madame  Jeanrenaud,  living  sometimes  in  Paris,  Eue  de  la 
Vrilliere,  No.  8,  sometimes  at  Villeparisis,  near  Claye,  in  the 
Department  of  Seine  et  Marne,  and  for  the  benefit  of  her 
son,  aged  thirty-six,  an  officer  in  the  ex-Imperial  Guards, 
whom  the  Marquis  d'Espard  has  placed  by  his  influence  in 
the  King's  Guards,  as  Major  in  the  First  Regiment  of 
Cuirassiers.  These  two  persons,  who  in  1814  were  in  extreme 
poverty,  have  since  then  purchased  house-property  of  con- 
siderable value;  among  other  items,  quite  recently,  a  large 
house  in  the  Grande  Rue  Verte,  where  the  said  Jeanrenaud 
is  laying  out  considerable  sums  in  order  to  settle  there  with 
the  woman  Jeanrenaud,  intending  to  marry;  these  sums 
amount  already  to  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  francs. 
The  marriage  has  been  arranged  by  the  intervention  of  M. 
d'Espard  with  his  banker,  one  Mongenod,  whose  niece  he  has 
asked  in  marriage  for  the  said  Jeanrenaud,  promising  to 
use  his  influence  to  procure  him  the  title  and  dignity  of 
Baron.  This  has  in  fact  been  secured  by  His  Majesty's  letters 
patent,  dated  December  29th  of  last  year,  at  the  request  of  the 
Marquis  d'Espard,  as  can  be  proved  by  His  Excellency  the 
Keeper  of  the  Seals,  if  the  Court  should  think  proper  to  re- 
quire his  testimony. 

"  'That  no  reason,  not  even  such  as  morality  and  the  law 
would  concur  in  disapproving,  can  justify  the  influence  which 
the  said  Mme.  Jeanrenaud  exerts  over  M.  d'Espard,  who, 


328  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

indeed,  sees  her  very  seldom;  nor  account  for  his  strange  af- 
fection for  the  said  Baron  Jeanrenaud,  Major  with  whom  he 
has  but  little  intercourse.  And  yet  their  power  is  so  con- 
siderable, that  whenever  they  need  money,  if  only  to  gratify 

a  mere  whim,  this  lady,  or  her  son '  Heh,  heh !  no  reason 

even  such  as  morality  and  the  law  concur  in  disapproving! 
What  does  the  clerk  or  the  attorney  mean  to  insinuate  ?"  said 
Popinot. 

Bianchon  laughed. 

"  'This  lady,  or  her  son,  obtain  whatever  they  ask  of  the 
Marquis  d'Espard  without  demur;  and  if  he  has  not  ready 
money,  M.  d'Espard  draws  bills  to  be  paid  by  the  said  Mon- 
genod,  who  has  offered  to  give  evidence  to  that  effect  for  the 
petitioner. 

"  'That,  moreover,  in  further  proof  of  these  facts,  lately, 
qn  the  occasion  of  the  renewal  of  the  leases  on  the  Espard 
estate,  the  farmers  having  paid  a  considerable  premium  for 
the  renewal  of  their  leases  on  the  old  terms,  M.  Jeanrenaud 
at  once  secured  the  payment  of  it  into  his  own  hands. 

"  'That  the  Marquis  d'Espard  parts  with  these  sums  of 
money  so  little  of  his  own  free-will,  that  when  he  was  spoken 
to  on  the  subject  he  seemed  to  remember  nothing  of  the 
matter;  that  whenever  anybody  of  any  weight  has  questioned 
him  as  to  his  devotion  to  these  two  persons,  his  replies  have 
shown  so  complete  an  absence  of  ideas  and  of  sense  of  his  own 
interests,  that  there  obviously  must  be  some  occult  cause  at 
work  to  which  the  petitioner  begs  to  direct  the  eye  of  justice, 
inasmuch  as  it  is  impossible  but  that  this  cause  should  be 
criminal,  malignant,  and  wrongful,  or  else  of  a  nature  to 
come  under  medical  jurisdiction;  unless  this  influence  is 
of  the  kind  which  constitutes  an  abuse  of  moral  power — such 

as  can  only  be  described  by  the  word  possession The 

devil !"  exclaimed  Popinot.  "What  do  you  say  to  that,  doc- 
tor? These  are  strange  statements." 

"They  might  certainly,"  said  Bianchon,  "be  an  effect  of 
magnetic  force." 

"Then  do  you  believe  in  Mesmer's  nonsense,  and  his  tub, 
and  seeing  through  walls?" 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  329 

"Yes,  uncle,"  said  the  doctor  gravely.  "As  I  heard  you 
read  that  petition  I  thought  of  that.  I  assure  you  that  I  have 
verified,  in  another  sphere  of  action,  several  analogous  facts 
proving  the  unlimited  influence  one  man  may  acquire  over 
another.  In  contradiction  to  the  opinion  of  my  brethren,  I 
am  perfectly  convinced  of  the  power  of  the  will  regarded  as 
a  motor  force.  All  collusion  and  charlatanism  apart,  I  have 
seen  the  results  of  such  a  possession.  Actions  promised  dur- 
ing sleep  by  a  magnetized  patient  to  the  magnetizer  have  been 
scrupulously  performed  on  waking.  The  will  of  one  had  be- 
come the  will  of  the  other." 

"Every  kind  of  action?" 

"Yes." 

"Even  a  criminal  act?" 

"Even  a  crime." 

"If  it  were  not  from  you,  I  would  not  listen  to  such  a 
thing." 

"I  will  make  you  witness  it,"  said  Bianchon. 

"Hm,  hm,"  muttered  the  lawyer.  "But  supposing  that  this 
so-called  possession  fell  under  this  class  of  facts,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  prove  it  as  legal  evidence." 

"If  this  woman  Jeanrenaud  is  so  hideously  old  and  ugly, 
I  do  not  see  what  other  means  of  fascination  she  can  have 
used,"  observed  Bianchon. 

"But,"  observed  the  lawyer,  "in  1814,  the  time  at  which 
this  fascination  is  supposed  to  have  taken  place,  this  woman 
was  fourteen  years  younger;  if  she  had  been  connected  with 
M.  d'Espard  ten  years  before  that,  these  calculations  take  us 
back  four-and-twenty  years,  to  a  time  when  the  lady  may 
have  been  young  and  pretty,  and  have  won  for  herself  and 
her  son  a  power  over  M.  d'Espard  which  some  men  do  not 
know  how  to  evade.  Though  the  source  of  this  power  is 
reprehensible  in  the  sight  of  justice,  it  is  justifiable  in  the  eye 
of  nature.  Madame  Jeanrenaud  may  have  been  aggrieved 
by  the  marriage,  contracted  probably  at  about  that  time,  be- 
tween the  Marquis  d'Espard  and  Mademoiselle  de  Blamont- 
Chauvry,  and  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  there  may  be  nothing 


330  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

more  than  the  rivalry  of  two  women,  since  the  Marquis  has 
for  a  long  time  lived  apart  from  Mme.  d'Espard." 

"But  her  repulsive  ugliness,  uncle  ?" 

"Power  of  fascination  is  in  direct  proportion  to  ugliness," 
said  the  lawyer;  "that  is  an  old  story.  And  then  think  of  the 
smallpox,  doctor.  But  to  proceed. 

"  'That  so  long  ago  as  in  1815,  in  order  to  supply  the  sums 
of  money  required  by  these  two  persons,  the  Marquis  d'Espard 
went  with  his  two  children  to  live  in  the  Rue  de  la  Montagne- 
Sainte-Genevieve,  in  rooms  quite  unworthy  of  his  name  and 
rank' — well,  we  may  live  as  we  please — 'that  he  keeps  his 
two  children  there,  the  Comte  Clement  d'Espard  and 
Vicomte  Camille  d'Espard,  in  a  style  of  living  quite  unsuited 
to  their  future  prospects,  their  name  and  fortune;  that  he 
often  wants  money,  to  such  a  point,  that  not  long  since  the 
landlord,  one  Mariast,  put  in  an  execution  on  the  furniture 
in  the  rooms;  that  when  this  execution  was  carried  out  in 
his  presence,  the  Marquis  d'Espard  helped  the  bailiff,  whom 
he  treated  like  a  man  of  rank,  paying  him  all  the  marks  of 
attention  and  respect  which  he  would  have  shown  to  a  person 
of  superior  birth  and  dignity  to  himself.' ': 

The  uncle  and  nephew  glanced  at  each  other  and  laughed. 

"  "That,  moreover,  every  act  of  his  life,  besides  the  facts 
with  reference  to  the  widow  Jeanrenaud  and  the  Baron  Jean- 
renaud,  her  son,  are  those  of  a  madman ;  that  for  nearly  ten 
years  he  has  given  his  thoughts  exclusively  to  China,  its 
customs,  manners,  and  history;  that  he  refers  everything  to 
a  Chinese  origin;  that  when  he  is  questioned  on  the  subject, 
he  confuses  the  events  of  the  day  and  the  business  of  yester- 
day with  facts  relating  to  China;  that  he  censures  the  acts 
of  the  Government  and  the  conduct  of  the  King,  though  he 
is  personally  much  attached  to  him,  by  comparing  them  with 
the  politics  of  China; 

"  'That  this  monomania  has  driven  the  Marquis  d'Espard 
to  conduct  devoid  of  all  sense:  against  the  customs  of  men 
of  rank,  and,  in  opposition  to  his  own  professed  ideas  as  to 
the  duties  of  the  nobility,  he  has  joined  a  commercial  under- 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  33] 

taking,  for  which  he  constantly  draws  bills  which,  as  they 
fall  due,  threaten  both  his  honor  and  his  fortune,  since  they 
stamp  him  as  a  trader,  and  in  default  of  payment  may  lead 
to  his  being  declared  insolvent;  that  these  debts,  which  are 
owing  to  stationers,  printers,  lithographers,  and  print-color- 
ists,  who  have  supplied  the  materials  for  his  publication, 
called  A  Picturesque  History  of  China,  now  coming  out  in 
parts,  are  so  heavy  that  these  tradesmen  have  requested  the 
petitioner  to  apply  for  a  Commission  in  Lunacy  with  regard 
to  the  Marquis  d'Espard  in  order  to  save  their  own  credit/ ': 

"The  man  is  mad !"  exclaimed  Bianchon. 

"You  think  so,  do  you?"  said  his  uncle.  "If  you  listen  to 
only  one  bell,  you  hear  only  one  sound." 

"But  it  seems  to  me "  said  Bianchon. 

"But  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Popinot,  "that  if  any  relation 
of  mine  wanted  to  get  hold  of  the  management  of  my  affairs, 
and  if,  instead  of  being  a  humble  lawyer,  whose  colleagues 
can,  any  day,  verify  what  this  condition  is,  I  were  a  duke 
of  the  realm,  an  attorney  with  a  little  cunning,  like 
Desroches,  might  bring,  just  such  a  petition  against  me. 

"  'That  his  children's  education  has  been  neglected  for  this 
monomania;  and  that  he  has  taught  them,  against  all  the 
rules  of  education,  the  facts  of  Chinese  history,  which  con- 
tradict the  tenets  of  the  Catholic  Church.  He  also  has  them 
taught  the  Chinese  dialects.'  " 

"Here  Desroches  strikes  me  as  funny,"  said  Bianchon. 

"The  petition  is  drawn  up  by  his  head-clerk  Godeschal, 
who,  as  you  know,  is  not  strong  in  Chinese,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  'That  he  often  leaves  his  children  destitute  of  the  most 
necessary  things ;  that  the  petitioner,  notwithstanding  her  en- 
treaties, can  never  see  them ;  that  the  said  Marquis  d'Espard 
brings  them  to  her  only  once  a  year;  that,  knowing  the 
privations  to  which  they  are  exposed,  she  makes  vain  efforts 
to  give  them  the  things  most  necessary  for  their  existence, 

and  which  they  require '  Oh !  Madame  la  Marquise,  this 

is  preposterous.  By  proving  too  much  you  prove  nothing. — 
My  dear  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  laying  the  document  on  his 


332  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

knee,  "where  is  the  mother  who  ever  lacked  heart  and  wit 
and  yearning  to  such  a  degree  as  to  fall  below  the  inspirations 
suggested  by  her  animal  instinct?  A  mother  is  as  cunning 
to  get  at  her  children  as  a  girl  can  be  in  the  conduct  of  a 
love  intrigue.  If  your  Marquise  really  wanted  to  give  her 
children  food  and  clothes,  the  Devil  himself  would  not  have 
hindered  her,  heh  ?  That  is  rather  too  big  a  fable  for  an  old 
lawyer  to  swallow ! — To  proceed. 

"  'That  at  the  age  the  said  children  have  now  attained  it 
is  necessary  that  steps  should  be  taken  to  preserve  them  from 
the  evil  effects  of  such  an  education;  that  they  should  be 
provided  for  as  beseems  their  rank,  and  that  they  should 
cease  to  have  before  their  eyes  the  sad  example  of  their 
father's  conduct; 

"  'That  there  are  proofs  in  support  of  these  allegations 
which  the  Court  can  easily  order  to  be  produced.  Many  times 
has  M.  d'Espard  spoken  of  the  judge  of  the  Twelfth  Arron- 
dissement  as  a  mandarin  of  the  third  class;  he  often  speaks 
of  the  professors  of  the  College  Henri  IV.  as  "men  of  let- 
ters" ' — and  that  offends  them !  'In  speaking  of  the  simplest 
things,  he  says,  "They  were  not  done  so  in  China;"  in  the 
course  of  the  most  ordinary  conversation  he  will  sometimes 
allude  to  Madame  Jeanrenaud,  or  sometimes  to  events  which 
happened  in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  then  sit  plunged 
in  the  darkest  melancholy;  sometimes  he  fancies  he  is  in 
China.  Several  of  his  neighbors,  among  others  one  Edme 
Becker,  medical  student,  and  Jean  Baptiste  Fremiot,  a  pro- 
fessor, living  under  the  same  roof,  are  of  opinion,  after  fre- 
quent intercourse  with  the  Marquis  d'Espard,  that  his  mono- 
mania with  regard  to  everything  Chinese  is  the  result  of  a 
scheme  laid  by  the  said  Baron  Jeanrenaud  and  the  widow  his 
mother  to  bring  about  the  deadening  of  all  the  Marquis 
d'Espard's  mental  faculties,  since  the  only  service  which 
Mme.  Jeanrenaud  appears  to  render  M.  d'Espard  is  to  pro- 
cure him  everything  that  relates  to  the  Chinese  Empire; 

"  'Finally,  that  the  petitioner  is  prepared  to  show  to  the 
Court  that  the  moneys  absorbed  by  the  said  Baron  and  Mme. 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  333 

Jeanrenaud  between  1814  and  1828  amount  to  not  less  than 
one  million  francs. 

"'In  confirmation  of  the  facts  herein  set  forth,  the  peti- 
tioner can  bring  the  evidence  of  persons  who  are  in  the  habit 
of  seeing  the  Marquis  d'Espard,  whose  names  and  profes- 
sions are  subjoined,  many  of  whom  have  urged  her  to  de- 
mand a  commission  in  lunacy  to  declare  M.  d'Espard  in- 
capable of  managing  his  own  affairs,  as  being  the  only  way 
to  preserve  his  fortune  from  the  effects  of  his  maladministra- 
tion and  -his  children  from  his  fatal  influence. 

"  'Taking  all  this  into  consideration,  M.  le  President,  and 
the  affidavits  subjoined,  the  petitioner  desires  that  it  may 
please  you,  inasmuch  as  the  foregoing  facts  sufficiently  prove 
the  insanity  and  incompetency  of  the  Marquis  d'Espard 
herein  described  with  his  titles  and  residence,  to  order  that, 
to  the  end  that  he  may  be  declared  incompetent  by  law,  this 
petition  and  the  documents  in  evidence  may  be  laid  before 
the  King's  public  prosecutor;  and  that  you  will  charge  one 
of  the  judges  of  this  Court  to  make  his  report  to  you  on  any 
day  you  may  be  pleased  to  name,  and  thereupon  to  pro- 
nounce judgment,'  etc. 

"And  here,"  said  Popinot,  "is  the  President's  order  in- 
structing me ! — Well,  what  does  the  Marquise  d'Espard  want 
with  me?  I  know  everything.  But  I  shall  go  to-morrow 
with  my  registrar  to  see  M.  le  Marquis,  for  this  does  not  seem 
at  all  clear  to  me." 

"Listen,  my  dear  uncle,  I  have  never  asked  the  least  little 
favor  of  you  that  had  to  do  with  your  legal  functions;  well, 
now  I  beg  you  to  show  Madame  d'Espard  the  kindness  which 
her  situation  deserves.  If  she  came  here,  you  would  listen  to 
her?" 

•<Yes." 

"Well,  then,  go  and  listen  to  her  in  her  own  house. 
Madame  d'Espard  is  a  sickly,  nervous,  delicate  woman,  who 
would  faint  in  your  rat-hole  of  a  place.  Go  in  the  evening, 
instead  of  accepting  her  dinner,  since  the  law  forbids  your 
eating  or  drinking  at  your  client's  expense." 


334  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

"And  does  not  the  law  forbid  you  from  taking  any  legacy 
from  your  dead?"  said  Popinot,  fancying  that  he  saw  a 
touch  of  irony  on  his  nephew's  lips. 

"Come,  uncle,  if  it  were  only  to  enable  you  to  get  at  the 
truth  of  this  business,  grant  my  request.  You  will  come  as 
the  examining  judge,  since  matters  do  not  seem  to  you  very 
clear.  Deuce  take  it !  It  is  as  necessary  to  cross-question  the 
Marquise  as  it  is  to  examine  the  Marquis." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  lawyer.  "It  is  quite  possible 
that  it  is  she  who  is  mad.  I  will  go." 

"I  will  call  for  you.     Write  down  in  your  engagement 
book:   'To-morrow  evening  at  nine,   Madame  d'Espard.'— 
Good !"  said  Bianchon,  seeing  his  uncle  make  a  note  of  the 
engagement. 

Next  evening  at  nine  Bianchon  mounted  his  uncle's  dusty 
staircase,  and  found  him  at  work  on  the  statement  of  some 
complicated  judgment.  The  coat  Lavienne  had  ordered  of 
the  tailor  had  not  been  sent,  so  Popinot  put  on  his  old  stained 
coat,  and  was  the  Popinot  unadorned  whose  appearance  made 
those  laugh  who  did  not  know  the  secrets  of  his  private  life. 
Bianchon,  however,  obtained  permission  to  pull  his  cravat 
straight,  and  to  button  his  coat,  and  he  hid  the  stains  by 
crossing  the  breast  of  it  with  the  right  side  over  the  left,  and 
so  displaying  the  new  front  of  the  cloth.  But  in  a  minute 
the  judge  rucked  the  coat  up  over  his  chest  by  the  way  in 
which  he  stuffed  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  obeying  an  ir- 
resistible habit.  Thus  the  coat,  deeply  wrinkled  both  in  front 
and  behind,  made  a  sort  of  hump  in  the  middle  of  the  back, 
leaving  a  gap  between  the  waistcoat  and  trousers  through 
which  his  shirt  showed.  Bianchon,  to  his  sorrow,  only  dis- 
covered this  crowning  absurdity  at  the  moment  when  his 
uncle  entered  the  Marquise's  room. 

A  brief  sketch  of  the  person  and  the  career  of  the  lady 
in  whose  presence  the  doctor  and  the  judge  now  found  them- 
selves is  necessary  for  an  understanding  of  her  interview 
with  Popinot. 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  335 

Madame  d'Espard  had,  for  the  last  seven  years,  been  very 
much  the  fashion  in  Paris,  where  Fashion  can  raise  and  drop 
by  turns  various  personages  who,  now  great  and  now  small, 
that  is  to  say,  in  view  or  forgotten,  are  at  last  quite  intoler- 
able— as  discarded  ministers  are,  and  every  kind  of  decayed 
sovereignty.  These  flatterers  of  the  past,  odious  with  their 
stale  pretensions,  know  everything,  speak  ill  of  everything, 
and,  like  ruined  profligates,  are  friends  with  all  the  world. 
Since  her  husband  had  separated  from  her  in  1815,  Madame 
d'Espard  must  have  married  in  the  beginning  of  1812.  Her 
children,  therefore,  were  aged  respectively  fifteen  and  thir- 
teen. By  what  luck  was  the  mother  of  a  family,  about  three- 
and-thirty  years  of  age,  still  the  fashion? 

Though  Fashion  is  capricious,  and  no  one  can  foresee  who 
shall  be  her  favorites,  though  she  often  exalts  a  banker's  wife, 
or  some  woman  of  very  doubtful  elegance  and  beauty,  it  cer- 
tainly seems  supernatural  when  Fashion  puts  on  constitu- 
tional airs  and  gives  promotion  for  age.  But  in  this  case 
Fashion  had  done  as  the  world  did,  and  accepted  Madame 
d'Espard  as  still  young. 

The  Marquise,  who  was  thirty-three  by  her  register  of 
birth,  was  twenty-two  in  a  drawing-room  in  the  evening. 
But  by  what  care,  what  artifice !  Elaborate  curls  shaded  her 
temples.  She  condemned  herself  to  live  in  twilight,  affecting 
illness  so  as  to  sit  under  the  protecting  tones  of  light  filtered 
through  muslin.  Like  Diane  de  Poitiers,  she  used  cold  water 
in  her  bath,  and,  like  her  again,  the  Marquise  slept  on  a  horse- 
hair mattress,  with  morocco-covered  pillows  to  preserve  her 
hair;  she  ate  very  little,  only  drank  water,  and  observed  mo- 
nastic regularity  in  the  smallest  actions  of  her  life. 

This  severe  system  has,  it  is  said,  been  carried  so  far  as  to 
the  use  of  ice  instead  of  water,  and  nothing  but  cold  food,  by  a 
famous  Polish  lady  of  our  day  who  spends  a  life,  now  verging 
on  a  century  old,  after  the  fashion  of  a  town  belle.  Fated  to 
live  as  long  as  Marion  Delorme,  whom  history  has  credited 
with  surviving  to  be  a  hundred  and  thirty,  the  old  vice-queen 

of  Poland,  at  the  age  of  nearly  a  hundred,  has  the  heart  and 
VOL.  7 — 44 


336  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

brain  of  youth,  a  charming  face,  an  elegant  shape;  and  in 
her  conversation,  sparkling  with  brilliancy  like  faggots  in  the 
fire,  she  can  compare  the  men  and  books  of  our  literature 
with  the  men  and  books  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Living 
in  Warsaw,  she  orders  her  caps  of  Herbault  in  Paris.  She  is 
a  great  lady  with  the  amiability  of  a  mere  girl;  she  swims, 
she  runs  like  a  schoolboy,  and  can  sink  on  to  a  sofa  with  the 
grace  of  a  young  coquette;  she  mocks  at  death,  and  laughs 
at  life.  After  having  astonished  the  Emperor  Alexander, 
she  can  still  amaze  the  Emperor  Nicholas  by  the  splendor  of 
her  entertainments.  She  can  still  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of 
a  youthful  lover,  for  her  age  is  whatever  she  pleases,  and. 
she  has  the  exquisite  self-devotion  of  a  grisette.  In  short, 
she  is  herself  a  fairy  tale,  unless,  indeed,  she  is  a  fairy. 

Had  Madame  d'Espard  known  Madame  Zayonseck?  Did 
she  •  mean  to  imitate  her  career  ?  Be  that  as  it  may,  the 
Marquise  proved  the  merits  of  the  treatment ;  her  complexion 
was  clear,  her  brow  unwrinkled,  her  figure,  like  that  of  Henri 
II. 's  lady-love,  preserved  the  litheness,  the  freshness,  the  cov- 
ered charms  which  bring  a  woman  love  and  keep  it  alive. 
The  simple  precautions  of  this  course,  suggested  by  art  and 
nature,  and  perhaps  by  experience,  had  met  in  her  with  a 
general  system  which  confirmed  the  results.  The  Marquise 
was  absolutely  indifferent  to  everything  that  was  not  herself: 
men  amused  her,  but  no  man  had  ever  caused  her  those  deep 
agitations  which  stir  both  natures  to  their  depths,  and  wreck 
one  on  the  other.  She  knew  neither  hatred  nor  love.  When 
she  was  offended,  she  avenged  herself  coldly,  quietly,  at  her 
leisure,  waiting  for  the  opportunity  to  gratify  the  ill-will 
she  cherished  against  anybody  who  dwelt  in  her  unfavorable 
remembrance.  She  made  no  fuss,  she  did  not  excite  herself; 
she  talked,  because  she  knew  that  by  two  words  a  woman 
may  cause  the  death  of  three  men. 

She  had  parted  from  M.  d'Espard  with  the  greatest  satis- 
faction. Had  he  not  taken  with  him  two  children  who  at 
present  were  troublesome,  and  in  the  future  would  stand  in 
the  way  of  her  pretensions?  Her  most  intimate  friends,  as 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  337 

mud  *s  her  least  persistent  admirers,  seeing  about  her  none 
of  Ct  melia's  jewels,  who  come  and  go,  and  unconsciously 
betraj  their  mother's  age,  took  her  for  quite  a  young  woman. 
The  tvfo  boys,  about  whom  she  seemed  so  anxious  in  her 
petition,  were,  like  their  father,  as  unknown  in  the  world 
as  the  northwest  passage  is  unknown  to  navigators.  M. 
d'Espard  was  supposed  to  be  an  eccentric  personage  who  had 
deserted  his  wife  without  having  the  smallest  cause  for 
complaint  against  her. 

Mistiess  of  herself  at  two-and-twenty,  and  mistress  of  her 
fortune  of  twenty-six  thousand  francs  a  year,  the  Marquise 
hesitateJ  long  before  deciding  on  a  course  of  action  and 
ordering  her  life.  Though  she  benefited  by  the  expenses 
her  husband  had  incurred  in  his  house,  though  she  had  all 
the  furniture,  the  carriages,  the  horses,  in  short,  all  the 
details  of  a  handsome  establishment,  she  lived  a  retired  life 
during  the  years  1816,  17,  and  18,  a  time  when  families  were 
recovering  from  the  disasters  resulting  from  political  tem- 
pests. She  belonged  to  one  of  the  most  important  and  illus- 
trious families  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  and  her 
parents  advised  her  to  live  with  them  as  much  as  possible 
after  the  separation  forced  upon  her  by  her  husband's  inex- 
plicable caprice. 

In  1820  the  Marquise  roused  herself  from  her  lethargy; 
she  went  to  Court,  appeared  at  parties,  and  entertained  in 
her  own  Louse.  From  1821  to  1827  she  lived  in  great  style, 
and  madt  herself  remarked  for  her  taste  and  her  dress;  she 
had  a  day,  an  hour,  for  receiving  visits,  and  ere  long  she  had 
seated  herself  on  the  throne,  occupied  before  her  by  Ma- 
dame la  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant,  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 
and  Madame  Firmiani — who  on  her  marriage  with  M.  de 
Camps  had  resigned  the  sceptre  in  favor  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneutje,  from  whom  Madame  d'Espard  snatched  it. 
The  world  knew  nothing  beyond  this  of  the  private  life  of  the 
Marquise  d'Espard.  She  seemed  likely  to  shine  for  long 
on  the  Parisian  horizon,  like  the  sun  near  its  setting,  but 
which  will  never  set. 


388  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

The  Marquise  was  on  terms  of  great  intimacy  with  a 
duchess  as  famous  for  her  beauty  as  for  her  attachment  to 
a  prince  just  now  in  banishment,  but  accustomed  to  play  a 
leading  part  in  every  prospective  government.  Madame 
d'Espard  was  also  the  friend  of  a  foreign  lady,  with  whom 
a  famous  and  very  wily  Eussian  diplomate  was  in  the  habit 
of  discussing  public  affairs.  And  then  an  antiquated  count- 
ess, who  was  accustomed  to  shuffle  the  cards  for  the  great 
game  of  politics,  had  adopted  her  in  a  maternal  fashion. 
Thus,  to  any  man  of  high  ambitions,  Madame  d'Espard  was 
preparing  a  covert  but  very  real  influence  to  follow  the  public 
and  frivolous  ascendency  she  now  owed  to  fashion.  Her 
drawing-room  was  acquiring  political  individuality:  "What 
do  they  say  at  Madame  d'Espard's?"  "Are  they  against  the 
measure  in  Madame  d'Espard's  drawing-room?"  were  ques- 
tions repeated  by  a  sufficient  number  of  simpletons  to  give 
the  flock  of  the  faithful  who  surrounded  her  the  importance 
of  a  coterie.  A  few  damaged  politicians  whose  wounds  she 
had  bound  up,  and  whom  she  flattered,  pronounced  her  as 
capable  in  diplomacy  as  the  wife  of  the  Russian  ambassador 
to  London.  The  Marquise  had  indeed  several  times  suggested 
to  deputies  or  to  peers  words  and  ideas  that  had  rung  through 
Europe.  She  had  often  judged  correctly  of  certain  events 
on  which  her  circle  of  friends  dared  not  express  an  opinion. 
The  principal  persons  about  the  Court  came  in  the  evening 
to  play  whist  in  her  rooms. 

Then  she  also  had  the  qualities  of  her  defects;  she  was 
thought  to  be — and  she  was — discreet.  Her  friendship 
seemed  to  be  staunch;  she  worked  for  her  proteges  with  a 
persistency  which  showed  that  she  cared  less  for  patronage 
than  for  increased  influence.  This  conduct  was  based  on 
her  dominant  passion,  Vanity.  Conquests  and  pleasure, 
which  so  many  women  love,  to  her  seemed  only  means  to  an 
end ;  she  aimed  at  living  on  every  point  of  the  largest  circle 
that  life  can  describe. 

Among  the  men  still  young,  and  to  whom  the  future  be- 
longed, who  crowded  her  drawing-room  on  great  occasions, 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  339 

were  to  be  seen  MM.  de  Marsay  and  de  Ronquerolles,  de  Mont- 
riveau,  de  la  Roche-Hugon,  de  Serizy,  Ferraud,  Maxime  de 
Trailles,  de  Listomere,  the  two  Vandenesses,  du  Chatelet, 
and  others.  She  would  frequently  receive  a  man  whose  wife 
she  would  not  admit,  and  her  power  was  great  enough  to  in- 
duce certain  ambitious  men  to  submit  to  these  hard  condi- 
tions, such  as  two  famous  royalist  bankers,  M.  de  Nucingen 
and  Ferdinand  du  Tillet.  She  had  so  thoroughly  studied  the 
strength  and  the  weakness  of  Paris  life,  that  her  conduct  had 
never  given  any  man  the  smallest  advantage  over  her.  An 
enormous  price  might  have  been  set  on  a  note  or  letter  by 
which  she  might  have  compromised  herself,  without  one 
being  produced. 

If  an  arid  soul  enabled  her  to  play  her  part  to  the  life,  her 
person  was  no  less  available  for  it.  She  had  a  youthful  figure. 
Her  voice  was,  at  will,  soft  and  fresh,  or  clear  and  hard.  She 
possessed  in  the  highest  degree  the  secret  of  that  aristocratic 
pose  by  which  a  woman  wipes  out  the  past.  The  Marquise 
knew  well  the  art  of  setting  an  immense  space  between  herself 
and  the  sort  of  man  who  fancies  he  may  be  familiar  after 
some  chance  advances.  Her  imposing  gaze  could  deny  every- 
thing. In  her  conversation  fine  and  beautiful  sentiments 
and  noble  resolutions  flowed  naturally,  as  it  seemed,  from  a 
pure  heart  and  soul;  but  in  reality  she  was  all  self,  and 
quite  capable  of  blasting  a  man  who  was  clumsy  in  his  nego- 
tiations, at  the  very  time  when  she  was  shamelessly  making 
a  compromise  for  the  benefit  of  her  own  interest. 

Rastignac,  in  trying  to  fasten  on  to  this  woman,  had  dis- 
cerned her  to  be  the  cleverest  of  tools,  but  he  had  not  yet  used 
it;  far  from  handling  it,  he  was  already  finding  himself 
crushed  by  it.  This  young  Condottiere  of  the  brain,  con- 
demned, like  Napoleon,  to  give  battle  constantly,  while  know- 
ing that  a  single  defeat  would  prove  the  grave  of  his  fortunes, 
had  met  a  dangerous  adversary  in  his  protectress.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  turbulent  life,  he  was  playing  a  game  with 
a  partner  worthy  of  him.  He  saw  a  place  as  Minister  in  the 
conquest  of  Madame  d'Espard,  so  he  was  her  tool  till  he 
could  make  her  his — a  perilous  beginning. 


340  THE   COMMISSION   IN   LUNACY 

The  Hotel  d'Espard  needed  a  large  household,  and  the 
Marquise  had  a  great  number  of  servants.  The  grand  recep- 
tions were  held  in  the  ground-floor  rooms,  but  she  lived  on 
the  first  floor  of  the  house.  The  perfect  order  of  a  fine  stair- 
case splendidly  decorated,  and  rooms  fitted  in  the  dignified 
style  which  formerly  prevailed  at  Versailles,  spoke  of  an 
immense  fortune.  When  the  judge  saw  the  carriage  gates 
thrown  open  to  admit  his  nephew's  cab,  he  took  in  with  a 
rapid  glance  the  lodge,  the  porter,  the  courtyard,  the  stables, 
the  arrangement  of  the  house,  the  flowers  that  decorated 
the  stairs,  the  perfect  cleanliness  of  the  banisters,  walls,  and 
carpets,  and  counted  the  footmen  in  livery  who,  as  the  bell 
rang,  appeared  on  the  landing.  His  eyes,  which  only  yester- 
day in  his  parlor  had  sounded  the  dignity  of  misery  under  the 
muddy  clothing  of  the  poor,  now  studied  with  the  same  pene- 
trating vision  the  furniture  and  splendor  of  the  rooms  he 
passed  through,  to  pierce  to  the  misery  of  grandeur. 

"M.   Popinot— M.   Bianchon." 

The  two  names  were  pronounced  at  the  door  of  the  boudoir 
where  the  Marquise  was  sitting,  a  pretty  room  recently  refur- 
nished, and  looking  out  on  the  garden  behind  the  house.  At 
the  moment  Madame  d'Espard  was  seated  in  one  of  the  old 
rococo  armchairs  of  which  Madame  had  set  the  fashion. 
Eastignac  was  at  her  left  hand  on  a  low  chair,  in  which  he 
looked  settled  like  an  Italian  lady's  "cousin."  A  third  person 
was  standing  by  the  corner  of  the  chimney-piece.  As  the 
shrewd  doctor  had  suspected,  the  Marquise  was  a  woman  of 
a  parched  and  wiry  constitution.  But  for  her  regimen  her 
complexion  must  have  taken  the  ruddy  tone  that  is  produced 
by  constant  heat ;  but  she  added  to  the  effect  of  her  acquired 
pallor  by  the  strong  colors  of  the  stuffs  she  hung  her  rooms 
with,  or  in  which  she  dressed.  Reddish-brown,  marone,  bistre 
with  a  golden  light  in  it,  suited  her  to  perfection.  Her 
boudoir,  copied  from  that  of  a  famous  lady  then  at  the  height 
of  fashion  in  London,  was  in  tan-colored  velvet ;  but  she  had 
added  various  details  of  ornament  which  moderated  the 
pompous  splendor  of  this  royal  hue.  Her  hair  was  dressed 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  341 

like  a  girl's  in  bands  ending  in  curls,  which  emphasized  the 
rather  long  oval  of  her  face;  but  an  oval  face  is  as  majestic 
as  a  round  one  is  ignoble.  The  mirrors,  cut  with  facets  to 
lengthen  or  flatten  the  face  at  will,  amply  prove  the  rale  as 
applied  to  the  physiognomy. 

On  seeing  Popinot,  who  stood  in  the  doorway  craning  his 
neck  like  a  startled  animal,  with  his  left  hand  in  his  pocket, 
and  the  right  hand  holding  a  hat  with  a  greasy  lining,  the 
Marquise  gave  Bastignac  a  look  wherein  lay  a  germ  of  mock- 
ery. The  good  man's  rather  foolish  appearance  was  so  com- 
pletely in  harmony  with  his  grotesque  figure  and  scared  looks, 
that  Eastignac,  catching  sight  of  Bianchon's  dejected  ex- 
pression of  humiliation  through  his  uncle,  could  not  help 
laughing,  and  turned  away.  The  Marquise  bowed  a  greet- 
ing, and  made  a  great  effort  to  rise  from  her  seat,  falling 
back  again,  not  without  grace,  with  an  air  of  apologizing  for 
her  incivility  by  affected  weakness. 

At  this  instant  the  person  who  was  standing  between  the 
fireplace  and  the  door  bowed  slightly,  and  pushed  forward 
two  chairs,  which  he  offered  by  a  gesture  to  the  doctor  and 
the  judge;  then,  when  they  had  seated  themselves,  he  leaned 
against  the  wall  again,  crossing  his  arms. 

A  word  as  to  this  man.  There  is  living  now,  in  our  day,  a 
painter — Decamps — who  possesses  in  the  very  highest  degree 
the  art  of  commanding  your  interest  in  everything  he  sets 
before  your  eyes,  whether  it  be  a  stone  or  a  man.  In  this 
respect  his  pencil  is  more  skilful  than  his  brush.  He  will 
sketch  an  empty  room  and  leave  a  broom  against  the  wall. 
If  he  chooses,  you  shall  shudder;  you  shall  believe  that  this 
broom  has  just  been  the  instrument  of  crime,  and  is  dripping 
with  blood;  it  shall  be  the  broom  which  the  widow  Bancal 
used  to  clean  out  the  room  where  Fualdes  was  murdered. 
Yes,  the  painter  will  touzle  that  broom  like  a  man  in  a  rage; 
he  vill  make  each  hair  of  it  stand  on-end  as  though  it  were 
on  your  own  bristling  scalp ;  he  will  make  it  the  interpreter 
between  the  secret  poem  of  his  imagination  and  the  poem 
that  shall  have  its  birth  in  yours.  After  terrifying  you  *>y 


342  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

the  aspect  of  that  broom,  to-morrow  he  will  draw  another, 
and  lying  by  it  a  cat,  asleep,  but  mysterious  in  its  sleep,  shall 
tell  you  that  this  broom  is  that  on  which  the  wife  of  a  German 
cobbler  rides  off  to  the  Sabbath  on  the  Brocken.  Or  it  will 
be  a  quite  harmless  broom,  on  which  he  will  hang  the  coat 
of  a  clerk  in  the  Treasury.  Decamps  had  in  his  brush  what 
Paganini  had  in  his  bow — a  magnetically  communicative 
power. 

Well,  I  should  have  to  transfer  to  my  style  that  striking 
genius,  that  marvelous  knack  of  the  pencil,  to  depict  the 
upright,  tall,  lean  man  dressed  in  black,  with  black  hair, 
who  stood  there  without  speaking  a  word.  This  gentleman 
had  a  face  like  a  knife-blade,  cold  and  harsh,  with  a  color 
like  Seine  water  when  it  is  muddy  and  strewn  with  fragments 
of  charcoal  from  a  sunken  barge.  He  looked  at  the  floor, 
listening  and  passing  judgment.  His  attitude  was  terrifying. 
He  stood  there  like  the  dreadful  broom  to  which  Decamps 
has  given  the  power  of  revealing  a  crime.  Now  and  then, 
in  the  course  of  conversation,  the  Marquise  tried  to  get  some 
tacit  advice;  but  however  eager  her  questioning,  he  was  as 
grave  and  as  rigid  as  the  statue  of  the  Commendatore. 

The  worthy  Popinot,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  chair  in 
front  of  the  fire,  his  hat  between  his  knees,  stared  at  the  gilt 
chandeliers,  the  clock,  and  the  curiosities  with  which  the 
chimney-shelf  was  covered,  the  velvet  and  trimmings  of  the 
curtains,  and  all  the  costly  and  elegant  nothings  that  a  wo- 
man of  fashion  collects  about  her.  He  was  roused  from  his 
homely  meditations  by  Madame  d'Espard,  who  addressed  him 
in  a  piping  tone : 

"Monsieur,  I  owe  you  a  million  thanks — 

"A  million  thanks,"  thought  he  to  himself,  "that  is  too 
many;  it  does  not  mean  one." 

"For  the  trouble  you  condescend " 

"Condescend !"  thought  he ;  "she  is  laughing  at  me." 

"To  take  in  coming  to  see  an  unhappy  client,  who  is  too  ill 

to  go  out 

.     Here  the  lawyer  cut  the  Marquise  short  by  giving  her  an 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  343 

inquisitorial  look,  examining  the  sanitary  condition  of  the 
unhappy  client. 

"As  sound  as  a  bell,"  said  he  to  himself. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  assuming  a  respectful  mien,  "you  owe 
me  nothing.  Although  my  visit  to  you  is  not  in  strict  ac- 
cordance with  the  practice  of  the  Court,  we  ought  to  spare 
no  pains  to  discover  the  truth  in  cases  of  this  kind.  Our 
judgment  is  then  guided  less  by  the  letter  of  the  law  than 
by  the  promptings  of  our  conscience.  Whether  I  seek  the 
truth  here  or  in  my  own  consulting-room,  so  long  as  I  find  it, 
all  will  be  well." 

While  Popinot  was  speaking,  Rastignac  was  shaking  hands 
with  Bianchon;  the  Marquise  welcomed  the  doctor  with  a 
little  bow  full  of  gracious  significance. 

"Who  is  that  ?"  asked  Bianchon  in  a  whisper  of  Rastignac, 
indicating  the  dark  man. 

"The  Chevalier  d'Espard,  the  Marquis'  brother." 

"Your  nephew  told  me,"  said  the  Marquise  to  Popiaot, 
"how  much  you  are  occupied,  and  I  know  too  that  you  are 
so  good  as  to  wish  to  conceal  your  kind  actions,  so  as  to 
release  those  whom  you  oblige  from  the  burden  of  gratitude. 
The  work  in  Court  is  most  fatiguing,  it  would  seem.  Why 
have  they  not  twice  as  many  judges?" 

"Ah,  madame,  that  would  not  be  difficult;  we  should  be 
none  the  worse  if  they  had.  But  when  that  happens,  fowls 
will  cut  their  teeth !" 

As  he  heard  this  speech,  so  entirely  in  character  with  the 
lawyer's  appearance,  the  Chevalier  measured  him  from,  head 
to  foot,  out  of  one  eye,  as  much  as  to  say,  "We  shall  easily 
manage  him." 

The  Marquise  looked  at  Rastignac,  who  bent  over  her. 
"That  is  the  sort  of  man,"  murmured  the  dandy  in  her  ear, 
"who  is  trusted  to  pass  judgments  on  the  life  and  interests 
of  private  individuals." 

Like  most  men  who  have  grown  old  in  a  business,  Popinot 
readily  let  himself  follow  the  habits  he  had  acquired,  more 
particularly  habits  of  mind.  His  conversation  was  all  of 


344  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

"the  shop."  He  was  fond  of  questioning  those  he  talked  to, 
forcing  them,  to  unexpected  conclusions,  making  them  tell 
more  than  they  wished  to  reveal.  Pozzo  di  Borgo,  it  is  said, 
used  to  amuse  himself  by  discovering  other  folks'  secrets,  and 
entangling  them  in  his  diplomatic  snares,  and  thus,  by  in- 
vincible habit,  showed  how  his  mind  was  soaked  in  wiliness. 
As  soon  as  Popinot  had  surveyed  the  ground,  so  to  speak, 
on  which  he  stood,  he  saw  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  have 
recourse  to  the  cleverest  subtleties,  the  most  elaborately 
wrapped  up  and  disguised,  which  were  in  use  in  the  Courts, 
to  detect  the  truth. 

Bianchon  sat  cold  and  stern,  as  a  man  who  has  made  up 
his  mind  to  endure  torture  without  revealing  his  sufferings; 
but  in  his  heart  he  wished  that  his  uncle  could  only  trample 
on  this  woman  as  we  trample  on  a  viper — a  comparison  sug- 
gested to  him  by  the  Marquise's  long  dress,  by  the  curve  of 
her  attitude,  her  long  neck,  small  head,  and  undulating 
movements. 

"Well,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  d'Espard,  "however  great 
my  dislike  to  be  or  seem  selfish,  I  have  been  suffering  too  long 
not  to  wish  that  you  may  settle  matters  at  once.  Shall  I 
soon  get  a  favorable  decision?" 

"Madame,  I  will  do  my  best  to  bring  matters  to  a  conclu- 
sion," said  Popinot,  with  an  air  of  frank  good-nature.  "Are 
you  ignorant  of  the  reason  which  made  the  separation  neces- 
sary which  now  subsists  between  you  and  the  Marquis  d'Es- 
pard?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  she  replied,  evidently  prepared  with  a 
story  to  tell.  "At  the  beginning  of  1816  M.  d'Espard,  whose 
temper  had  completely  changed  within  three  months  or  so, 
proposed  that  we  should  go  to  live  on  one  of  his  estates  near 
Briangon,  without  any  regard  for  my  health,  which  that  cli- 
mate would  have  destroyed,  or  for  my  habits  of  life ;  I  refused 
to  go.  My  refusal  gave  rise  to  such  unjustifiable  reproaches 
on  his  part,  that  from  that  hour  I  had  my  suspicions  as  to 
the  soundness  of  his  mind.  On  the  following  day  he  left  me, 
leaving  me  his  house  and  the  free  use  of  my  own  income,  and 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  345 

he  went  to  live  in  the  Rue  de  la  Montague- Sainte-Genevieve, 
taking  with  him  my  two  children " 

"One  moment,  madame,"  said  the  lawyer,  interrupting 
her.  "What  was  that  income  ?" 

"Twenty-six  thousand  francs  a  year/'  she  replied  paren- 
thetically. "I  at  once  consulted  old  M.  Bordin  as  to  what  I 
ought  to  do,"  she  went  on;  "but  it  seems  that  there  are  so 
many  difficulties  in  the  way  of  depriving  a  father  of  the  care 
of  his  children,  that  I  was  forced  to  resign  myself  to  remain- 
ing alone  at  the  age  of  twenty-two — an  age  at  which  many 
young  women  do  very  foolish  things.  You  have  read  my 
petition,  no  doubt,  monsieur;  you  know  the  principal  facts 
on  which  I  rely  to  procure  a  Commission  in  Lunacy  with  re- 
gard to  M.  d'Espard  ?" 

"Have  you  ever  applied  to  him,  madame,  to  obtain  the  care 
of  your  children?" 

"Yes,  monsieur;  but  in  vain.  It  is  very  hard  on  a  mother 
to  be  deprived  of  the  affection  of  her  children,  particularly 
when  they  can  give  her  such  happiness  as  every  woman 
clings  to." 

"The  elder  must  be  sixteen,"  said  Popinot. 

"Fifteen,"  said  the  Marquise  eagerly. 

Here  Bianchon  and  Rastignac  looked  at  each  other.  Ma- 
dame d'Espard  bit  her  lips. 

"What  can  the  age  of  my  children  matter  to  you  ?" 

"Well,  madame,"  said  the  lawyer,  without  seeming  to  at- 
tach any  importance  to  his  words,  "a  lad  of  fifteen  and  his 
brother,  of  thirteen,  I  suppose,  have  legs  and  their  wits  about 
them;  they  might  come  to  see  you  on  the  sly.  If  they  do 
not,  it  is  because  they  obey  their  father,  and  to  obey  him  in 
that  matter  they  must  love  him  very  dearly." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  Marquise. 

"You  do  not  know,  perhaps,"  replied  Popinot,  "that  in  your 
petition  your  attorney  represents  your  children  as  being  very 
unhappy  with  their  father?" 

Madame  d'Espard  replied  with  charming  innocence : 

"I  do  not  know  what  my  attorney  may  have  put  into  my 
mouth." 


346  THE  COMMISSION  n\  LUNACY 

"Forgive  my  inferences/'  said  Popinot,  "but  Justice  weighs 
everything.  What  I  ask  you,  madame,  is  suggested  by  my 
wish  thoroughly  to  understand  the  matter.  By  your  account 
M.  d'Espard  deserted  you  on  the  most  frivolous  pretext. 
Instead  of  going  to  Briangon,  where  he  wished  to  take  you, 
he  remained  in  Paris.  This  point  is  not  clear.  Did  he  know 
this  Madame  Jeanrenaud  before  his  marriage?" 

"No,  monsieur,"  replied  the  Marquise,  with  some  asperity, 
visible  only  to  Eastignac  and  the  Chevalier  d'Espard. 

She  was  offended  at  being  cross-questioned  by  this  lawyer 
when  she  had  intended  to  beguile  his  judgment;  but  as 
Popinot  still  looked  stupid  from  sheer  absence  of  mind,  she 
ended  by  attributing  his  interrogatory  to  the  Questioning 
Spirit  of  Voltaire's  bailiff. 

"My  parents,"  she  went  on,  "married  me  at  the  age  of  six- 
teen to  M.  d'Espard,  whose  name,  fortune,  and  mode  of  life 
were  such  as  my  family  looked  for  in  the  man  who  was  to 
be  my  husband.  M.  d'Espard  was  then  six-and-twenty ;  he 
was  a  gentleman  in  the  English  sense  of  the  word ;  his  man- 
ners, pleased  me,  he  seemed  to  have  plenty  of  ambition,  and 
I  like  ambitious  people,"  she  added,  looking  at  Rastignac. 
"If  M.  d'Espard  had  never  met  that  Madame  Jeanrenaud, 
his  character,  his  learning,  his  acquirements  would  have 
raised  him — as  his  friends  then  believed — to  high  office  in 
the  Government.  King  Charles  X.,  at  that  time  Monsieur, 
had  the  greatest  esteem  for  him,  and  a  peer's  seat,  an  appoint- 
ment at  Court,  some  important  post  certainly  would  have 
been  his.  That  woman  turned  his  head,  and  has  ruined  all 
the  prospects  of  my  family." 

"What  were  M.  d  Espard's  religious  opinions  at  that  time  ?" 

"He  was,  and  is  still,  a  very  pious  man." 

"You  do  not  suppose  that  Madame  Jeanrenaud  may  have 
influenced  him  by  mysticism?" 

"No,  monsieur." 

"You  have  a  very  fine  house,  madame,"  said  Popinot  sud- 
denly, taking  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets,  and  rising  to  pick 
up  his  coat-tails  and  warm  himself.  "This  boudoir  is  very 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  341 

nice,  those  chairs  are  magnificent,  the  whole  apartment  is 
sumptuous.  You  must  indeed  be  most  unhappy  when,  seeing 
yourself  here,  you  know  that  your  children  are  ill  lodged, 
ill  clothed,  and  ill  fed.  I  can  imagine  nothing  more  terrible 
for  a  mother." 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  should  be  so  glad  to  give  the  poor  little 
fellows  some  amusement,  while  their  father  keeps  them  at 
work  from  morning  till  night  at  that  wretched  history  of 
China." 

"You  give  handsome  balls;  they  would  enjoy  them,  but 
they  might  acquire  a  taste  for  dissipation.  However,  their 
father  might  send  them  to  you  once  or  twice  in  the  course 
of  the  winter." 

"He  brings  them  here  on  my  birthday  and  on  New  Year's 
Day.  On  those  days  M.  d'Espard  does  me  the  favor  of  dining 
here  with  them." 

"It  is  very  singular  behavior,"  said  the  judge,  with  an  air 
of  conviction.  "Have  you  ever  seen  this  Dame  Jeanrenaud  ?" 

"My  brother-in-law  one  day,  out  of  interest  in  his 
brother — 

"Ah !  monsieur  is  M.  d'Espard's  brother  ?"  said  the  lawyer, 
interrupting  her. 

The  Chevalier  bowed,  but  did  not  speak. 

"M.  d'Espard,  who  has  watched  this  affair,  took  me  to  the 
Oratoire,  where  this  woman  goes  to  sermon,  for  she  is  a 
Protestant.  I  saw  her ;  she  is  not  in  the  least  attractive ;  she 
looks  like  a  butcher's  wife,  extremely  fat,  horribly  marked 
with  the  smallpox ;  she  has  feet  and  hands  like  a  man's,  she 
squints,  in  short,  she  is  monstrous !" 

"It  is  inconceivable,"  said  the  judge,  looking  like  the  most 
imbecile  judge  in  the  whole  kingdom.  "And  this  creature 
lives  near  here,  Rue  Verte,  in  a  fine  house?  There  are  no 
plain  folks  left,  it  would  seem?" 

"In  a  mansion  on  which  her  son  has  spent  absurd  sums." 

"Madame,"  said  Popinot,  "I  live  in  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Marceau;  I  know  nothing  of  such  expenses.  What  do  you 
call  absurd  sums  ?" 


348  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

"Well/'  said  the  Marquise,  "a  stable  with  five  horses  and 
three  carriages,  a  phaeton,  a  brougham,  and  a  cabriolet." 

"That  costs  a  large  sum,  then  ?"  asked  Popinot  in  surprise. 

"Enormous  sums!"  said  Rastignac,  intervening.  "Such 
an  establishment  would  cost,  for  the  stables,  the  keeping  the 
carriages  in  order,  and  the  liveries  for  the  men,  between  fif- 
teen and  sixteen  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"Should  you  think  so,  madame?"  said  the  judge,  looking 
much  astonished. 

"Yes,  at  least,"  replied  the  Marquise. 

"And  the  furniture,  too,  must  have  cost  a  lot  of  money?" 

"More  than  a  hundred  thousand  francs,"  replied  Madame 
d'Espard,  who  could  no,t  help  smiling  at  the  lawyer's  vul- 
garity. 

"Judges,  madame,  are  apt  to  be  incredulous;  it  is  what 
they  are  paid  for,  and  I  am  incredulous.  The  Baron  Jean- 
renaud  and  his  mother  must  have  fleeced  M.  d'Espard  most 
preposterously,  if  what  you  say  is  correct.  There  is  a  stable 
establishment  which,  by  your  account,  costs  sixteen  thousand 
francs  a  year.  Housekeeping,  servants'  wages,  and  the  gross 
expenses  of  the  house  itself  must  run  to  twice  as  much;  that 
makes  a  total  of  from  fifty  to  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Do  you  suppose  that  these  people,  formerly  so  extremely  poor, 
can  have  so  large  a  fortune?  A  million  yields  scarcely  forty 
thousand  a  year." 

"Monsieur,  the  mother  and  son  invested  the  money  given 
them  by  M.  d'Espard  in  the  funds  when  they  were  at  60  to  80. 
I  should  think  their  income  must  be  more  than  sixty  thousand 
francs.  And  then  the  son  has  fine  appointments." 

"If  they  spend  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year,"  said  the 
judge,  "how  much  do  you  spend  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Madame  d'Espard,  "about  the  same."  The 
Chevalier  started  a  little,  the  Marquise  colored;  Bianchon 
looked  at  Rastignac;  but  Popinot  preserved  an  expression  of 
simplicity  which  quite  deceived  Madame  d'Espard.  The 
Chevalier  took  no  part  in  the  conversation ;  he  saw  that  all 
was  lost. 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  349 

"These  people,  madame,  might  be  indicted  before  the 
superior  Court,"  said  Popinot. 

"That  was  my  opinion,"  exclaimed  the  Marquise,  en- 
chanted. "If  threatened  with  the  police,  they  would  have 
come  to  terms." 

"Madame,"  said  Popinot,  "when  M.  d'Espard  left  you,  did 
he  not  give  you  a  power  of  attorney  enabling  you  to  manage 
and  control  your  own  affairs?" 

"I  do  not  understand  the  object  of  all  these  questions," 
said  the  Marquise  with  petulance.  "It  seems  to  me  that  if 
you  would  only  consider  the  state  in  which  I  am  placed  by 
my  husband's  insanity,  you  ought  to  be  troubling  yourself 
about  him,  and  not  about  me." 

"We  are  coming  to  that,  madame,"  said  the  judge.  "Be- 
fore placing  in  your  hands,  or  in  any  others,  the  control  of 
M.  d'Espard's  property,  supposing  he  were  pronounced  in- 
capable, the  Court  must  inquire  as  to  how  you  have  managed 
your  own.  If  M.  d'Espard  gave  you  power,  he  would  have 
shown  confidence  in  you,  and  the  Court  would  recognize  the 
fact.  Had  you  any  power  from  him?  You  might  have 
bought  or  sold  house  property  or  invested  money  in  busi- 
ness ?" 

"No,  monsieur,  the  Blamont-Chauvrys  are  not  in  the  habit 
of  trading,"  said  she,  extremely  nettled  in  her  pride  as  an 
aristocrat,  and  forgetting  the  business  in  hand.  "My  prop- 
erty is  intact,  and  M.  d'Espard  gave  me  no  power  to  act." 

The  Chevalier  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes  not  to  betray  the 
vexation  he  felt  at  his  sister-in-law's  short-sightedness,  for  she 
was  ruining  herself  by  her  answers.  Popinot  had  gone 
straight  to  the  mark  in  spite  of  his  apparent  doublings. 

"Madame,"  said  the  lawyer,  indicating  the  Chevalier,  "this 
gentleman,  of  course,  is  your  near  connection?  May  we 
speak  openly  before  these  other  gentlemen?" 

"Speak  on,"  said  the  Marquise,  surprised  at  this  caution. 

"Well,  madame,  granting  that  you  spend  only  sixty  thou- 
sand francs  a  year,  to  any  one  who  sees  your  stables,  your 
house,  your  train  of  servants,  and  a  style  of  housekeeping 


350  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

which  strikes  me  as  far  more  luxurious  than  that  of  the 
Jeanrenauds,  that  sum  would  seem  well  laid  out." 

The  Marquise  bowed  an  agreement. 

"But/'  continued  the  judge,  "if  you  have  no  more  than 
twenty-six  thousand  francs  a  year,  you  may  have  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  of  debt.  The  Court  would  therefore  have  a 
right  to  imagine  that  the  motives  which  prompt  you  to  ask  that 
your  husband  may  be  deprived  of  the  control  of  his  property 
are  complicated  by  self-interest  and  the  need  of  paying  your 
debts — if — you — have — any.  The  requests  addressed  to  me 
have  interested  me  in  your  position ;  consider  fully  and  make 
your  confession.  If  my  suppositions  have  hit  the  truth,  there 
is  yet  time  to  avoid  the  blame  which  the  Court  would  have 
a  perfect  right  to  express  in  the  saving  clauses  of  the  verdict 
if  you  could  not  show  your  attitude  to  be  absolutely  honor- 
able and  clear. 

"It  is  our  duty  to  examine  the  motives  of  the  applicant 
as  well  as  to  listen  to  the  plea  of  the  witness  under  examina- 
tion, to  ascertain  whether  the  petitioner  may  not  have  been 
prompted  by  passion,  by  a  desire  for  money,  which  is  unfor- 
tunately too  common — 

The  Marquise  was  on  Saint  Laurence's  gridiron. 

"And  I  must  have  explanations  on  this  point.  Madame, 
I  have  no  wish  to  call  you  to  account;  I  only  want  to  know 
how  you  have  managed  to  live  at  the  rate  of  sixty  thousand 
francs  a  year,  and  that  for  some  years  past.  There  are 
plenty  of  women  who  achieve  this*  in  their  housekeeping,  but 
you  are  not  one  of  those.  Tell  me,  you  may  have  the  most 
legitimate  resources,  a  royal  pension,  or  some  claim  on  the 
indemnities  lately  granted ;  but  even  then  you  must  have  had 
your  husband's  authority  to  receive  them." 

The  Marquise  did  not  speak. 

"You  must  remember,"  Popinot  went  on,  "that  M. 
d'Espard  may  wish  to  enter  a  protest,  and  his  counsel  will 
have  a  right  to  find  out  whether  you  have  any  creditors.  This 
boudoir  is  newly  furnished,  your  rooms  are  not  now  fur- 
nished with  the  things  left  to  you  by  M.  d'Espard  in  1816. 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  351 

If,  as  you  did  me  the  honor  of  informing  me,  furniture  is 
costly  for  the  Jeanrenauds,  it  must  be  yet  more  so  for  you, 
who  are  a  great  lady.  Though  I  am  a  judge,  I  am  but  a  man ; 
I  may  be  wrong — tell  me  so.  Remember  the  duties  imposed 
on  me  by  the  law,  and  the  rigorous  inquiries  it  demands, 
when  the  case  before  it  is  the  suspension  from  all  his  func- 
tions of  the  father  of  a  family  in  the  prime  of  life.  So  you 
will  pardon  me,  Madame  la  Marquise,  for  laying  all  these 
difficulties  before  you ;  it  will  be  easy  for  you  to  give  me  an 
explanation. 

"When  a  man  is  pronounced  incapable  of  the  control  of  his 
own  affairs,  a  trustee  has  to  be  appointed.  Who  will  be  the 
trustee  ?" 

"His  brother,"  said  the  Marquise. 

The  Chevalier  bowed.  There  was  a  short  silence,  very  un- 
comfortable for  the  five  persons  who  were  present.  The 
judge,  in  sport  as  it  were,  had  laid  open  the  woman's  sore 
place.  Popinot's  countenance  of  common,  clumsy  good- 
nature, at  which  the  Marquise,  the  Chevalier,  and  Rastignac 
had  been  inclined  to  laugh,  had  gained  importance  in  their 
eyes.  As  they  stole  a  look  at  him,  they  discerned  the  various 
expressions  of  that  eloquent  mouth.  The  ridiculous  mortal 
was  a  judge  of  acumen.  His  studious  notice  of  the  boudoir 
was  accounted  for:  he  had  started  from  the  gilt  elephant 
supporting  the  chimney-clock,  examining  all  this  luxury,  and 
had  ended  by  reading  this  woman's  soul. 

"If  the  Marquis  d'Espard  is  mad  about  China,  I  see  that 
you  are  not  less  fond  of  its  products,"  said  Popinot,  looking 
at  the  porcelain  on  the  chimney-piece.  "But  perhaps  it  was 
from  M.  le  Marquis  that  you  had  these  charming  Oriental 
pieces,"  and  he  pointed  to  some  precious  trifles. 

This  irony,  in  very  good  taste,  made  Bianchon  smile,  and 
petrified  Rastignac,  while  the  Marquise  bit  her  thin  lips. 

"Instead  of  being  the  protector  of  a  woman  placed  in  a 
cruel  dilemma — an  alternative  between  losing  her  fortune 
and  her  children,  and  being  regarded  as  her  husband's  en- 
emy," she  said,  "you  accuse  me,  monsieur !  You  suspect  my 
motives !  You  must  own  that  your  conduct  is  strange !" 

VOL.  7—45 


352  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

"Madame,"  said  the  judge  eagerly,  "the  caution  exercised 
by  the  Court  in  such  cases  as  these  might  have  given  you, 
in  any  other  judge,  a  perhaps  less  indulgent  critic  than  I 
am. — And  do  you  suppose  that  M.  d'Espard's  lawyer  will 
show  you  any  great  consideration  ?  Will  he  not  be  suspicious 
of  motives  which  may  be  perfectly  pure  and  disinterested? 
Your  life  will  be  at  his  mercy ;  he  will  inquire  into  it  without 
qualifying  his  search  by  the  respectful  deference  I  have  for 
you." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  monsieur,"  said  the  Marquise 
satirically.  "Admitting  for  the  moment  that  I  owe  thirty 
thousand,  or  fifty  thousand  francs,  in  the  first  place,  it  would 
be  a  mere  trifle  to  the  d'Espards  and  the  Blamont-Chauvrys. 
But  if  my  husband  is  not  in  the  possession  of  his  mental  fac- 
ulties, would  that  prevent  his  being  pronounced  incapable?" 

"No,  madame,"  said  Popinot. 

"Although  you  have  questioned  me  with  a  sort  of  cunning 
which  I  should  not  have  suspected  in  a  judge,  and  under 
circumstances  where  straightforwardness  would  have  an- 
swered your  purpose,"  she  went  on,  "I  will  tell  you  without 
subterfuge  that  my  position  in  the  world,  and  the  efforts  I 
have  to  make  to  keep  up  my  connection,  are  not  in  the  least 
to  my  taste.  I  began  my  life  by  a  long  period  of  solitude; 
but  my  children's  interest  appealed  to  me;  I  felt  that 
I  must  fill  their  father's  place.  By  receiving  my  friends, 
by  keeping  up  all  this  connection,  by  contracting  these  debts, 
I  have  secured  their  future  welfare;  I  have  prepared  for 
them  a  brilliant  career  where  they  will  find  help  and  favor; 
and  to  have  what  has  thus  been  acquired,  many  a  man  of 
business,  lawyer  or  banker,  would  gladly  pay  all  it  has  cost 
me." 

"I  appreciate  your  devoted  conduct,  madame,"  replied 
Popinot.  "It  does  you  honor,  and  I  blame  you  for  nothing. 
A  judge  belongs  to  all :  he  must  know  and  weigh  every  fact." 

Madame  d'Espard's  tact  and  practice  in  estimating  men 
made  her  understand  that  M.  Popinot  was  not  to  be  influ- 
enced by  any  consideration.  She  had  counted  on  an  ambi- 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  353 

tious  lawyer,  she  had  found  a  man  of  conscience.  She  at 
once  thought  of  finding  other  means  for  securing  the  success 
of  her  side. 

The  servants  brought  in  tea. 

"Have  you  any  further  explanations  to  give  me,  madame  ?" 
said  Popinot,  seeing  these  preparations. 

"Monsieur,"  she  replied  haughtily,  "do  your  business  your 
own  way;  question  M.  d'Espard,  and  you  will  pity  me,  I  am 
sure."  She  raised  her  head,  looking  Popinot  in  the  face  with 
pride,  mingled  with  impertinence;  the  worthy  man  bowed 
himself  out  respectfully. 

"A  nice  man  is  your  uncle,"  said  Rastignac  to  Bianchon. 
"Is  he  really  so  dense  ?  Does  not  he  know  what  the  Marquise 
d'Espard  is,  what  her  influence  means,  her  unavowed  power 
over  people?  The  Keeper  of  the  Seals  will  be  with  her  to- 
morrow  " 

"My  dear  fellow,  how  can  I  help  it?"  said  Bianchon.  "Did 
not  I  warn  you  ?  He  is  not  a  man  you  can  get  over." 

"No,"  said  Rastignac;  "he  is  a  man  you  must  run  over." 

The  doctor  was  obliged  to  make  his  bow  to  the  Marquise 
and  her  mute  Chevalier  to  catch  up  Popinot,  who,  not  being 
the  man  to  endure  an  embarrassing  position,  was  pacing 
through  the  rooms. 

"That  woman  owes  a  hundred  thousand  crowns,"  said  the 
judge,  as  he  stepped  into  his  nephew's  cab. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  the  case  ?" 

"I,"  said  the  judge.  "I  never  have  an  opinion  till  I  have 
gone  into  everything.  To-morrow  early  I  will  send  to  Ma- 
dame Jeanrenaud  to  call  on  me  in  my  private  office  at  four 
o'clock,  to  make  her  explain  the  facts  which  concern  her, 
for  she  is  compromised." 

"I  should  very  much  like  to  know  what  the  end  will  be." 

"Why,  bless  me,  do  not  you  see  that  the  Marquise  is  the 
tool  of  that  tall  lean  man  who  never  uttered  a  word  ?  There  is 
a  strain  of  Cain  in  him,  but  of  the  Cain  who  goes  to  the 
Law  Courts  for  his  bludgeon,  and  there,  unluckily  for  him. 
we  keep  more  than  one  Damocles'  sword." 


354  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

"Oh,  Rastignac !  what  brought  you  into  that  boat,  I  won- 
der?" exclaimed  Bianchon. 

"Ah,  we  are  used  to  seeing  these  little  family  conspiracies," 
said  Popinot.  "Not  a  year  passes  without  a  number  of  ver- 
dicts of  'insufficient  evidence'  against  applications  of  this 
kind.  In  our  state  of  society  such  an  attempt  brings  no  dis- 
honor, while  we  send  a  poor  devil  to  the  galleys  who  breaks 
a  pane  of  glass  dividing  him  from  a  bowl  full  of  gold.  Our 
Code  is  not  faultless." 

"But  these  are  the  facts?" 

"My  boy,  do  you  not  know  all  the  judicial  romances  with 
which  clients  impose  on  their  attorneys?  If  the  attorneys 
condemned  themselves  to  state  nothing  but  the  truth,  they 
would  not  earn  enough  to  keep  their  office  open." 

Next  day,  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  a  very  stout  dame, 
looking  a  good  deal  like  a  cask  dressed  up  in  a  gown  and 
belt,  mounted  Judge  Popinot's  stairs,  perspiring  and  panting. 
She  had,  with  great  difficulty,  got  out  of  a  green  landau, 
which  suited  her  to  a  miracle;  you  could  not  think  of  the 
woman  without  the  landau,  or  the  landau  without  the  woman. 

"It  is  I,  my  dear  sir,"  said  she,  appearing  in  the  doorway 
of  the  judge's  room.  "Madame  Jeanrenaud,  whom  you  sum- 
moned exactly  as  if  I  were  a  thief,  neither  more  nor  less." 

The  common  words  were  spoken  in  a  common  voice, 
broken  by  the  wheezing  of  asthma,  and  ending  in  a  cough. 

"When  I  go  through  a  damp  place,  I  can't  tell  you  what  I 
suffer,  sir.  I  shall  never  make  old  bones,  saving  your  presence. 
However,  here  I  am." 

The  lawyer  was  quite  amazed  at  the  appearance  of  this 
supposed  Marechale  d'Ancre.  Madame  Jeanrenaud's  face 
was  pitted  with  an  infinite  number  of  little  holes,  was  very- 
red,  with  a  pug  nose  and  a  low  forehead,  and  was  as  round  as 
a  ball;  for  everything  about  the  good  woman  was  round. 
She  had  the  bright  eyes  of  a  country  woman,  an  honest  gaze, 
a  cheerful  tone,  and  chestnut  hair  hold  in  place  by  a  bonnet 
cap  under  a  green  bonnet  decked  with  a  shabby  bunch  of 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  355 

auriculas.  Her  stupendous  bust  was  a  thing  to  laugh  at, 
for  it  made  one  fear  some  grotesque  explosion  every  time  she 
coughed.  Her  enormous  legs  were  of  the  shape  which  make 
the  Paris  street  boy  describe  such  a  woman  as  being  built  on 
piles.  The  widow  wore  a  green  gown  trimmed  with  chin- 
chilla, which  looked  on  her  as  a  splash  of  dirty  oil  would  look 
on  a  bride's  veil.  In  short,  everything  about  her  harmonized 
with  her  last  words :  "Here  I  am." 

"Madame,"  said  Popinot,  "you  are  suspected  of  having 
used  some  seductive  arts  to  induce  M.  d'Espard  to  hand  over 
to  you  very  considerable  sums  of  money." 

"Of  what !  of  what !"  cried  she.  "Of  seductive  arts  ?  But, 
my  dear  sir,  you  are  a  man  to  be  respected,  and,  moreover, 
as  a  lawyer  you  ought  to  have  some  good  sense.  Look  at  me ! 
Tell  me  if  I  am  likely  to  seduce  any  one.  I  cannot  tie  my 
own  shoes,  nor  even  stoop.  For  these  twenty  years  past,  the 
Lord  be  praised,  I  have  not  dared  to  put  on  a  pair  of  stays 
under  pain  of  sudden  death.  I  was  as  thin  as  an  asparagus 
stalk  when  I  was  seventeen,  and  pretty  too — I  may  say  so 
now.  So  I  married  Jeanrenaud,  a  good  fellow,  and  head- 
man on  the  salt-barges.  I  had  my  boy,  who  is  a  fine  young 
man;  he  is  my  pride,  and  it  is  not  holding  myself  cheap  to 
say  he  is  my  best  piece  of  work.  My  little  Jeanrenaud  was 
a  soldier  who  did  Napoleon  credit,  and  who  served  in  the 
Imperial  Guard.  But,  alas!  at  the  death  of  my  old  man, 
who  was  drowned,  times  changed  for  the  worse.  I  had  the 
smallpox.  I  was  kept  two  years  in  my  room  without  stirring, 
and  I  came  out  of  it  the  size  you  see  me,  hideous  for  ever, 
and  as  wretched  as  could  be.  These  are  my  seductive  arts." 

"But  what,  then,  can  the  reasons  be  that  have  induced  M 
d'Espard  to  give  you  sums ?" 

"Hugious  sums,  monsieur,  say  the  word;  I  do  not  mind. 
But  as  to  his  reasons,  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  explain  them." 

"You  are  wrong.  At  this  moment,  his  family,  very  natu- 
rally alarmed,  are  about  to  bring  an  action — 

"Heavens  above  us !"  said  the  good  woman,  starting  up. 
"Is  it  possible  that  he  should  be  worried  on  my  account? 


356  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

That  king  of  men,  a  man  that  has  not  his  match!  Rather 
than  he  should  have  the  smallest  trouble,  or  a  hair  less  on 
his  head  I  could  almost  say,  we  would  return  every  sou, 
monsieur.  Write  that  down  on  your  papers.  Heaven  above 
us !  I  will  go  at  once  and  tell  Jeanrenaud  what  is  going  on ! 
A  pretty  thing  indeed  !" 

And  the  little  old  woman  went  out,  rolled  herself  down- 
stairs, and  disappeared. 

"That  one  tells  no  lies,"  said  Popinot  to  himself.  "Well, 
to-morrow  I  shall  know  the  whole  story,  for  I  shall  go  to 
see  the  Marquis  d'Espard." 

People  who  have  outlived  the  age  when  a  man  wastes  his 
vitality  at  random,  know  how  great  an  influence  may  be  ex- 
ercised on  more  important  events  by  apparently  trivial  inci- 
dents, and  will  not  be  surprised  at  the  weight  here  given  to 
the  following  minor  fact.  Next  day  Popinot  had  an  attack 
of  coryza,  a  complaint  which  is  not  dangerous,  and  generally 
known  by  the  absurd  and  inadequate  name  of  a  cold  in  the 
head.  . 

The  judge,  who  could  not  suppose  that  the  delay  could 
be  serious,  feeling  himself  a  little  feverish,  kept  his  room, 
and  did  not  go  to  see  the  Marquis  d'Espard.  This  day  lost 
was,  to  this  affair,  what  on  the  Day  of  Dupes  the  cup  of  soup 
had  been,  taken  by  Marie  de  Medici,  which,  by  delaying  her 
meeting  with  Louis  XIII.,  enabled  Richelieu  to  arrive  at 
Saint-Germain  before  her,  and  recapture  his  royal  slave. 

Before  accompanying  the  lawyer  and  his  registering  clerk 
to  the  Marquis  d'Espard's  house,  it  may  be  as  well  to  glance 
at  the  home  and  the  private  affairs  of  this  father  of  sons  whom 
his  wife's  petition  represented  to  be  a  madman. 

Here  and  there  in  the  old  parts  of  Paris  a  few  buildings 
may  still  be  seen  in  which  the  archaeologist  can  discern  an 
intention  of  decorating  the  city,  and  that  love  of  property 
which  leads  the  owner  to  give  a  durable  character  to  the  struct- 
ure. The  house  in  which  M.  d'Espard  was  then  living,  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Montagne-Sainte-Genevieve,  was  one  of  these 
old  mansions,  built  in  stone,  and  not  devoid  of  a  certain  rich- 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  357 

ness  of  style;  but  time  had  blackened  the  stone,  and  revolu- 
tions in  the  town  had  damaged  it  both  outside  and  inside. 
The  dignitaries  who  formerly  dwelt  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  University  having  disappeared  with  the  great  ecclesi- 
astical foundations,  this  house  had  become  the  home  of  in- 
dustries and  of  inhabitants  whom  it  was  never  destined  to 
shelter.  During  the  last  century  a  printing  establishment 
had  worn  down  the  polished  floors,  soiled  the  carved  wood, 
blackened  the  walls,  and  altered  the  principal  internal  ar- 
rangements. Formerly  the  residence  of  a  Cardinal,  this  fine 
house  was  now  divided  among  plebeian  tenants.  The  character 
of  the  architecture  showed  that  it  had  been  built  under  the 
reigns  of  Henry  III.,  Henry  IV.,  and  Louis  XIII.,  at  the 
time  when  the  hotels  Mignon  and  Serpente  were  erected  in 
the  same  neighborhood,  with  the  palace  of  the  Princess  Pala- 
tine, and  the  Sorbonne.  An  old  man  could  remember  having 
heard  it  called,  in  the  last  century,  the  hotel  Duperron,  so 
it  seemed  probable  that  the  illustrious  Cardinal  of  that  name 
had  built,  or  perhaps  merely  lived  in  it. 

There  still  exists,  indeed,  in  the  corner  of  the  courtyard, 
a  perron  or  flight  of  several  outer  steps  by  which  the  house 
is  entered ;  and  the  way  into  the  garden  on  the  garden  front 
is  down  a  similar  flight  of  steps.  In  spite  of  dilapidations, 
the  luxury  lavished  by  the  architect  on  the  balustrade  and 
entrance  porch  crowning  these  two  perrons  suggests  the 
simple-minded  purpose  of  commemorating  the  owner's  name, 
a  sort  of  sculptured  pun  which  our  ancestors  often  allowed 
themselves.  Finally,  in  support  of  this  evidence,  archaeolo- 
gists can  still  discern  in  the  medallions  which  show  on  the 
principal  front  some  traces  of  the  cords  of  the  Roman  hat. 

M.  le  Marquis  d'Espard  lived  on  the  ground  floor,  in  order, 
no  doubt,  to  enjoy  the  garden,  which  might  be  called  spacious 
for  that  neighborhood,  and  which  lay  open  to  the  south,  two 
advantages  imperatively  necessary  for  his  children's  health. 
The  situation  of  the  house,  in  a  street  on  a  steep  hill,  as  its 
name  indicates,  secured  these  ground-floor  rooms  against 
ever  being  damp.  M.  d'Espard  had  taken  them,  no  doubt, 


358  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

for  a  very  moderate  price,  rents  being  low  at  the  time  when 
he  settled  in  that  quarter,  in  order  to  be  among  the  schools 
and  to  superintend  his  boys'  education.  Moreover,  the  state 
in  which  he  found  the  place,  with  everything  to  repair,  had 
no  doubt  induced  the  owner  to  be  accommodating.  Thus  M. 
d'Espard  had  been  able  to  go  to  some  expense  to  settle  him- 
self suitably  without  being  accused  of  extravagance.  The 
loftiness  of  the  rooms,  the  paneling,  of  which  nothing  sur- 
vived but  the  frames,  the  decoration  of  the  ceilings,  all  dis- 
played the  dignity  which  the  prelacy  stamped  on  whatever 
it  attempted  or  created,  and  which  artists  discern  to  this  day 
in  the  smallest  relic  that  remains,  though  it  be  but  a  book, 
a  dress,  the  panel  of  a  bookcase,  or  an  armchair. 

The  Marquis  had  the  rooms  painted  in  the  rich  brown 
tones  beloved  of  the  Dutch  and  of  the  citizens  of  Old  Paris, 
hues  which  lend  such  good  effects  to  the  painter  of  genre. 
The  panels  were  hung  with  plain  paper  in  harmony  with  the 
paint.  The  window  curtains  were  of  inexpensive  materials, 
but  chosen  so  as  to  produce  a  generally  happy  result;  the 
furniture  was  not  too  crowded  and  judiciously  placed.  Any 
one  on  going  into  this  home  could  not  resist  a  sense  of  sweet 
peacefulness,  produced  by  the  perfect  calm,  the  stillness 
which  prevailed,  by  the  unpretentious  unity  of  color,  the 
keeping  of  the  picture,  in  the  words  a  painter  might  use. 
A  certain  nobleness  in  the  details,  the  exquisite  cleanliness 
of  the  furniture,  and  a  perfect  concord  of  men  and  things, 
all  brought  the  word  "suavity"  to  the  lips. 

Few  persons  were  admitted  to  the  rooms  used  by  the  Mar- 
quis and  his  two  sons,  whose  life  might  perhaps  seem  mys- 
terious to  their  neighbors.  In  a  wing  towards  the  street,  on 
the  third  floor,  there  are  three  large  rooms  which  had  been 
left  in  the  state  of  dilapidation  and  grotesque  bareness  to 
which  they  had  been  reduced  by  the  printing  works.  These 
three  rooms,  devoted  to  the  evolution  of  the  Picturesque  His- 
tory of  China,  were  contrived  to  serve  as  a  writing-room,  a 
depository,  and  a  private  room,  where  M.  d'Espard  sat  during 
part  of  the  day ;  for  after  breakfast  till  four  in  the  afternoon 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  359 

the  Marquis  remained  in  this  room  on  the  third  floor  to  work 
at  the  publication  he  had  undertaken.  Visitors  wanting  to 
see  him  commonly  found  him  there,  and  often  the  two  boys 
on  their  return  from  school  resorted  thither.  Thus  the 
ground-floor  rooms  were  a  sort  of  sanctuary  where  the  father 
and  sons  spent  their  time  from  the  hour  of  dinner  till  the 
next  day,  and  his  domestic  life  was  carefully  closed  against 
the  public  eye. 

His  only  servants  were  a  cook — an  old  woman  who  had 
long  been  attached  to  his  family — and  a  man-servant  forty 
years  old,  who  was  with  him  when  he  married  Mademoiselle 
de  Blamont.  His  children's  nurse  had  also  remained  with 
them,  and  the  minute  care  to  which  the  apartment  bore  wit- 
ness revealed  the  sense  of  order  and  the  maternal  affection 
expended  by  this  woman  in  her  master's  interest,  in  the  man- 
agement of  his  house,  and  the  charge  of  his  children.  These 
three  good  souls,  grave  and  uncommunicative  folk,  seemed  to 
have  entered  into  the  idea  which  ruled  the  Marquis'  domestic 
life.  And  the  contrast  between  their  habits  and  those  of 
most  servants  was  a  peculiarity  which  cast  an  air  of  mystery 
over  the  house,  and  fomented  the  calumny  to  which  M.  d'Es- 
pard  himself  lent  occasion.  Very  laudable  motives  had  made 
him  determine  never  to  be  on  visiting  terms  with  any  of  the 
other  tenants  in  the  house.  In  undertaking  to  educate  his 
boys  he  wished  to  keep  them  from  all  contact  with  strangers. 
Perhaps,  too,  he  wished  to  avoid  the  intrusion  of  neighbors. 

In  a  man  of  his  rank,  at  a  time  when  the  Quartier  Latin 
was  distracted  by  Liberalism,  such  conduct  was  sure  to  rouse 
in  opposition  a  host  of  petty  passions,  of  feelings  whose  folly 
is  only  to  be  measured  by  their  meanness,  the  outcome  of 
porters'  gossip  and  malevolent  tattle  from  door  to  door,  all 
unknown  to  M.  d'Espard  and  his  retainers.  His  man-servant 
was  stigmatized  as  a  Jesuit,  his  cook  as  a  sly  fox;  the  nurse 
was  in  collusion  with  Madame  Jeanrenaud  to  rob  the  mad- 
man. The  madman  was  the  Marquis.  By  degrees  the  other 
tenants  came  to  regard  as  proofs  of  madness  a  number  of 
things  they  had  noticed  in  M.  d'Espard,  and  passed  through 


360  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

the  sieve  of  their  judgment  without  discerning  any  reason- 
able motive  for  them. 

Having  no  belief  in  the  success  of  the  History  of  China, 
they  had  managed  to  convince  the  landlord  of  the  house  that 
M.  d'Espard  had  no  money  just  at  a  time  when,  with  the  for- 
getfulness  which  often  befalls  busy  men,  he  had  allowed  the 
tax-collector  to  send  him  a  summons  for  non-payment  of 
arrears.  The  landlord  had  forthwith  claimed  his  quarter's 
rent  from  January  1st  by  sending  in  a  receipt,  which  the 
porter's  wife  had  amused  herself  by  detaining.  On  the  15th 
a  summons  to  pay  was  served  on  M.  d'Espard,  the  portress 
had  delivered  it  at  her  leisure,  and  he  supposed  it  to  be  some 
misunderstanding,  not  conceiving  of  any  incivility  from  a 
man  in  whose  house  he  had  been  living  for  twelve  years.  The 
Marquis  was  actually  seized  by  a  bailiff  at  the  time  when  his 
man-servant  had  gone  to  carry  the  money  for  the  rent  to  the 
landlord. 

This  arrest,  assiduously  reported  to  the  persons  with  whom 
he  was  in  treaty  for  his  undertaking,  had  alarmed  some  of 
them  who  were  already  doubtful  of  M.  d'Espard's  solvency 
in  consequence  of  the  enormous  sums  which  Baron  Jeanre- 
naud  and  his  mother  were  said  to  be  receiving  from  him. 
And,  indeed,  these  suspicions  on  the  part  of  the  tenants,  the 
creditors,  and  the  landlord  had  some  excuse  in  the  Marquis' 
extreme  economy  in  housekeeping.  He  conducted  it  as  a 
ruined  man  might.  His  servants  always  paid  in  ready  money 
for  the  most  trifling  necessaries  of  life,  and  acted  as  not  choos- 
ing to  take  credit;  if  now  they  had  asked  for  anything  on 
credit,  it  would  probably  have  been  refused,  calumnious  gossip 
had  been  so  widely  believed  in  the  neighborhood.  There  are 
tradesmen  who  like  those  of  their  customers  who  pay  badly 
when  they  see  them  often,  while  they  hate  others,  and  very 
good  ones,  who  hold  themselves  on  too  high  a  level  to  allow 
of  any  familiarity  as  chums,  a  vulgar  but  expressive  word. 
Men  are  made  so;  in  almost  every  class  they  will  allow  to  a 
gossip,  or  a  vulgar  soul  that  flatters  them,  facilities  and  favors 
they  refuse  to  the  superiority  they  resent,  in  whatever  form 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  361 

it  may  show  itself.  The  shopkeeper  who  rails  at  the  Court 
has  his  courtiers. 

In  short,  the  manners  of  the  Marquis  and  his  children 
were  certain  to  arouse  ill-feeling  in  their  neighbors,  and  to 
work  them  up  by  degrees  to  the  pitch  of  malevolence  when 
men  do  not  hesitate  at  an  act  of  meanness  if  only  it  may  dam- 
age the  adversary  they  have  themselves  created. 

M.  d'Espard  was  a  gentleman,  as  his  wife  was  a  lady,  by 
birth  and  breeding;  noble  types,  already  so  rare  in  France 
that  the  observer  can  easily  count  the  persons  who  per- 
fectly realize  them.  These  two  characters  are  based  on  prim- 
itive ideas,  on  beliefs  that  may  be  called  innate,  on  habits 
formed  in  infancy,,  and  which  have  ceased  to  exist.  To  be- 
lieve in  pure  blood,  in  a  privileged  race,  to  stand  in  thought 
above  other  men,  must  we  not  from  birth  have  measured  the 
distance  which  divides  patricians  from  the  mob?  To  com- 
mand, must  we  not  have  never  met  our  equal  ?  And  finally, 
must  not  education  inculcate  the  ideas  with  which  Nature 
inspires  those  great  men  on  whose  brow  she  has  placed  a 
crown  before  their  mother  has  ever  set  a  kiss  there?  These 
ideas,  this  education,  are  no  longer  possible  in  France,  where 
for  forty  years  past  chance  has  arrogated  the  right  of  making 
noblemen  by  dipping  them  in  the  blood  of  battles,  by  gilding 
them  with  glory,  by  crowning  them  with  the  halo  of  genius; 
where  the  abolition  of  entail  and  of  eldest  sonship,  by  fritter- 
ing away  estates,  compels  the  nobleman  to  attend  to  his  own 
business  instead  of  attending  to  affairs  of  state,  and  where 
personal  greatness  can  only  be  such  greatness  as  is  acquired 
by  long  and  patient  toil :  quite  a  new  era. 

Begarded  as  a  relic  of  that  great  institution  known  as 
feudalism,  M.  d'Espard  deserved  respectful  admiration.  If 
he  believed  himself  to  be  by  blood  the  superior  of  other  men, 
he  also  believed  in  all  the  obligations  of  nobility;  he  had 
the  virtues  and  the  strength  it  demands.  He  had  brought  up 
his  children  in  his  own  principles,  and  taught  them  from 
the  cradle  the  religion  of  their  caste.  A  deep  sense  of  their 
own  dignity,  pride  of  name,  the  conviction  that  they  were 


362  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

by  birth  great,  gave  rise  in  them  to  a  kingly  pride,  the  courage 
of  knights,  and  the  protecting  kindness  of  a  baronial  lord; 
their  manners,  harmonizing  with  their  notions,  would  have 
become  princes,  and  offended  all  the  world  of  the  Kue  de  la 
Montagne-Sainte-Genevieve — a  world,  above  all  others,  of 
equality,  where  every  one  believed  that  M.  d'Espard  was 
ruined,  and  where  all,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest,  refused 
the  privileges  of  nobility  to  a  nobleman  without  money,  be- 
cause they  all  were  ready  to  allow  an  enriched  bourgeois  to 
usurp  them.  Thus  the  lack  of  communion  between  this 
family  and  other  persons  was  as  much  moral  as  it  was 
physical. 

In  the  father  and  the  children  alike,  their  personality  har- 
monized with  the  spirit  within.  M.  d'Espard,  at  this  time 
about  fifty,  might  have  sat  as  a  model  to  represent  the  aris- 
tocracy of  birth  in  the  nineteenth  century.  He  was  slight 
and  fair;  there  was  in  the  outline  and  general  expression 
of  his  face  a  native  distinction  which  spoke  of  lofty  senti- 
ments, but  it  bore  the  impress  of  a  deliberate  coldness  which 
commanded  respect  a  little  too  decidedly.  His  aquiline  nose 
bent  at  the  tip  from  left  to  right,  a  slight  crookedness  which 
was  not  devoid  of  grace;  his  blue  eyes,  his  high  forehead, 
prominent  enough  at  the  brows  to  form  a  thick  ridge  that 
checked  the  light  and  shaded  his  eyes,  all  indicated  a  spirit 
of  rectitude,  capable  of  perseverance  and  perfect  loyalty, 
while  it  gave  a  singular  look  to  his  countenance.  This  pent- 
house forehead  might,  in  fact,  hint  at  a.  touch  of  madness, 
and  his  thick-knitted  eyebrows  added  to  the  apparent  eccen- 
tricity. He  had  the  white  well-kept  hands  of  a  gentleman; 
his  foot  was  high  and  narrow.  His  hesitating  speech — not 
merely  as  to  his  pronunciation,  which  was  that  of  a  stam- 
merer, but  also  in  the  expression  of  his  ideas,  his  thought, 
and  language — produced  on  the  mind  of  the  hearer  the  im- 
pression of  a  man  who,  in  familiar  phraseology,  comes  and 
goes,  feels  his  way,  tries  everything,  breaks  off  his  gestures, 
and  finishes  nothing.  This  defect  was  purely  superficial,  and 
in  contrast  with  the  decisiveness  of  a  firmly-set  mouth,  and 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  363 

the  strongly-marked  character  of  his  physiognomy.  His 
rather  jerky  gait  matched  his  mode  of  speech.  These  pe- 
culiarities helped  to  affirm  his  supposed  insanity.  In  spite 
of  his  elegant  appearance,  he  was  systematically  parsimonious 
in  his  personal  expenses,  and  wore  the  same  black  frock-coat 
for  three  or  four  years,  brushed  with  extreme  care  by  his  old 
man-servant. 

As  to  the  children,  they  both  were  handsome,  and  en- 
dowed with  a  grace  which  did  not  exclude  an  expression  of 
aristocratic  disdain.  They  had  the  bright  coloring,  the  clear 
eye,  the  transparent  flesh  which  reveal  habits  of  purity,  regu- 
larity of  life,  and  a  due  proportion  of  work  and  play.  They 
both  had  black  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  a  twist  in  their  nose, 
like  their  father;  but  their  mother,  perhaps,  had  transmitted 
to  them  the  dignity  of  speech,  of  look  and  mien,  which  are 
hereditary  in  the  Blamont-Chauvrys.  Their  voices,  as  clear 
as  crystal,  had  an  emotional  quality,  the  softness  which  proves 
so  seductive;  they  had,  in  short,  the  voice  a  woman  would 
willingly  listen  to  after  feeling  the  flame  of  their  looks.  But, 
above  all,  they  had  the  modesty  of.  pride,  a  chaste  reserve,  a 
touch-me-not  which  at  a  maturer  age  might  have  seemed 
intentional  coyness,  so  much  did  their  demeanor  inspire  a 
wish  to  know  them.  The  elder,  Comte  Clement  de  Negre- 
pelisse,  was  close  upon  his  sixteenth  year.  For  the  last  two 
years  he  had  ceased  to  wear  the  pretty  English  round  jacket 
which  his  brother,  Vicomte  Camille  d'Espard,  still  wore. 
The  Count,  who  for  the  last  six  months  went  no  more  to 
the  College  Henri  IV.,  was  dressed  in  the  style  of  a  young 
man  enjoying  the  first  pleasures  of  fashion.  His  father 
had  not  wished  to  condemn  him  to  a  year's  useless  study  of 
philosophy;  he  was  trying  to  give  his  knowledge  some  con- 
sistency by  the  study  of  transcendental  mathematics.  At 
the  same  time,  the  Marquis  was  having  him  taught  Eastern 
languages,  the  international  law  of  Europe,  heraldry,  and 
history  from  the  original  sources — charters,  early  documents, 
and  collections  of  edicts.  Camille  had  lately  begun  to  study 
rhetoric. 


364  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

The  day  when  Popinot  arranged  to  go  to  question  M. 
d'Espard  was  a  Thursday,  a  holiday.  At  about  nine  in 
the  morning,  before  their  father  was  awake,  the  brothers 
were  playing  in  the  garden.  Clement  was  finding  it  hard  to 
refuse  his  brother,  who  was  anxious  to  go  to  the  shooting- 
gallery  for  the  first  time,  and  who  begged  him  to  second  his 
request  to  the  Marquis.  The  Viscount  always  rather  took  ad- 
vantage of  his  weakness,  and  was  very  fond  of  wrestling  with 
his  brother.  So  the  couple  were  quarreling  and  fighting  in 
play  like  schoolboys.  As  they  ran  in  the  garden,  chasing  each 
other,  they  made  so  much  noise  as  to  wake  their  father,  who 
came  to  the  window  without  their  perceiving  him  in  the  heat 
of  the  fray.  The  Marquis  amused  himself  with  watching 
his  two  children  twisted  together  like  snakes,  their  faces 
flushed  by  the  exertion  of  their  strength;  their  complexion 
was  rose  and  white,  their  eyes  flashed  sparks,  their  limbs 
writhed  like  cords  in  the  fire ;  they  fell,  sprang  up  again,  and 
caught  each  other  like  athletes  in  a  circus,  affording  their 
father  one  of  those  moments  of  happiness  which  would  make 
amends  for  the  keenest  anxieties  of  a  busy  life.  Two  other 
persons,  one  on  the  second  and  one  on  the  first  floor,  were 
also  looking  into  the  garden,  and  saying  that  the  old  mad- 
man was  amusing  himself  by  making  his  children  fight. 
Immediately  a  number  of  heads  appeared  at  the  windows; 
the  Marquis,  noticing  them,  called  a  word  to  his  sons,  who  at 
once  climbed  up  to  the  window  and  jumped  into  his  room, 
and  Clement  obtained  the  permission  asked  by  Camille. 

All  through  the  house  every  one  was  talking  of  the  Mar- 
quis' new  form  of  insanity.  When  Popinot  arrived  at  about 
twelve  o'clock,  accompanied  by  his  clerk,  the  portress,  when 
asked  for  M.  d'Espard,  conducted  him  to  the  third  floor, 
telling  his  "as  how  M.  d'Espard,  no  longer  ago  than  that 
very  morning,  had  set  on  his  two  children  to  fight,  and 
laughed  like  the  monster  he  was  on  seeing  the  younger  biting 
the  elder  till  he  bled,  and  as  how  no  doubt  he  longed  to  see 
them  kill  each  other. — Don't  ask  me  the  reason  why,"  she 
added ;  "he  doesn't  know  himself !" 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  36T> 

Just  as  the  woman  spoke  these  decisive  words,  she  had 
brought  the  judge  to  the  landing  on  the  third  floor,  face  to 
face  with  a  door  covered  with  notices  announcing  the  suc- 
cessive numbers  of  the  Picturesque  History  of  China.  The 
muddy  floor,  the  dirty  banisters,  the  door  where  the  printers 
had  left  their  marks,  the  dilapidated  window,  and  the  ceiling 
on  which  the  apprentices  had  amused  themselves  with  draw- 
ing monstrosities  with  the  smoky  flare  of  their  tallow  dips, 
the  piles  of  paper  and  litter  heaped  up  in  the  corners,  in- 
tentionally or  from  sheer  neglect — in  short,  every  detail  of 
the  picture  lying  before  his  eyes,  agreed  so  well  with  the 
facts  alleged  by  the  Marquise  that  the  judge,  in  spite  of  his 
impartiality,  could  not  help  believing  them. 

"There  you  are,  gentlemen,"  said  the  porter's  wife ;  "there 
is  the  manifactor,  where  the  Chinese  swallow  up  enough  to 
feed  the  whole  neighborhood." 

The  clerk  looked  at  the  judge  with  a  smile,  and  Popinot 
found  it  hard  to  keep  his  countenance.  They  went  together 
into  the  outer  room,  where  sat  an  old  man,  who,  no  doubt, 
performed  the  functions  of  office  clerk,  shopman,  and 
cashier.  This  old  man  was  the  Maitre  Jacques  of  China. 
Along  the  walls  ran  long  shelves,  on  which  the  published 
numbers  lay  in  piles.  A  partition  in  wood,  with  a  grating 
lined  with  green  curtains,  cut  off  the  end  of  the  room,  form- 
ing a  private  office.  A  till  with  a  slit  to  admit  or  disgorge 
crown  pieces  indicated  the  cash-desk. 

"M.  d'Espard?"  said  Popinot,  addressing  the  man,  who 
wore  a  gray  blouse. 

The  shopman  opened  the  door  into  the  next  room,  where 
the  lawyer  and  his  companion  saw  a  venerable  old  man, 
white-headed  and  simply  dressed,  wearing  the  Cross  of  Saint- 
Louis,  seated  at  a  desk.  He  ceased  comparing  some  sheets 
of  colored  prints  to  look  up  at  the  two  visitors.  This  room 
was  an  unpretentious  office,  full  of  books  and  proof-sheets. 
There  was  a  black  wood  table  at  which  some  one,  at  the  mo- 
ment absent,  no  doubt  was  accustomed  to  work. 

"The  Marquis  d'Espard?"  said  Popinot. 


366  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

"No,  monsieur,"  said  the  old  man,  rising;  "what  do  you 
want  with  him?"  he  added,  coming  forward,  and  showing 
by  his  demeanor  the  dignified  manners  and  habits  due  to  a 
gentlemanly  education. 

"We  wish  to  speak  to  him  on  business  exclusively  personal 
to  himself,"  replied  Popinot. 

"D'Espard,  here  are  some  gentlemen  who  want  to  see  you," 
then  said  the  old  man,  going  into  the  furthest  room,  where 
the  Marquis  was  sitting  by  the  fire  reading  the  newspaper. 

This  innermost  room  had  a  shabby  carpet,  the  windows 
were  hung  with  gray  holland  curtains ;  the  furniture  consisted 
of  a  few  mahogany  chairs,  two  armchairs,  a  desk  with  a  re- 
volving front,  an  ordinary  office  table,  and  on  the  chimney- 
shelf,  a  dingy  clock  and  two  old  candlesticks.  The  old  man 
led  the  way  for  Popinot  and  his  registrar,  and  pulled  forward 
two  chairs,  as  though  he  were  master  of  the  place;  M. 
d'Espard  left  it  to  him.  After  the  preliminary  civilities, 
during  which  the  judge  watched  the  supposed  lunatic,  the 
Marquis  naturally  asked  what  was  the  object  of  this  visit. 
On  this  Popinot  glanced  significantly  at  the  old  gentleman 
and  the  Marquis. 

"I  believe,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  he,  "that  the  char- 
acter of  my  functions,  and  the  inquiry  that  has  brought  me 
here,  make  it  desirable  that  we  should  be  alone,  though  it  is 
understood  by  law  that  in  such  cases  the  inquiries  have  a 
sort  of  family  publicity.  I  am  judge  on  the  Inferior  Court 
of  Appeal  for  the  Department  of  the  Seine,  and  charged 
by  the  President  with  the  duty  of  examining  you  as  to  certain 
facts  set  forth  in  a  petition  for  a  Commission  in  Lunacy  on 
the  part  of  the  Marquise  d'Espard." 

The  old  man  withdrew.  When  the  lawyer  and  the  Mar- 
quis were  alone,  the  clerk  shut  the  door,  and  seated  himself 
unceremoniously  at  the  office  table,  where  he  laid  out  his 
papers  and  prepared  to  take  down  his  notes.  Popinot  had 
still  kept  his  eye  on  M.  d'Espard;  he  was  watching  the  ef- 
fect on  him  of  this  crude  statement,  so  painful  for  a  man 
in  full  possession  of  his  reason.  The  Marquis  d'Espard, 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  3ff7 

whose  face  was  usually  pale,  as  are  those  of  fair  men,  sud- 
denly turned  scarlet  with  anger;  he  trembled  for  an  instant, 
sat  down,  laid  his  paper  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  looked 
down.  In  a  moment  he  had  recovered  his  gentlemanly  dig- 
nity, and  looked  steadily  at  the  judge,  as  if  to  read  in  his 
countenance  the  indications  of  his  character. 

"How  is  it,  monsieur,"  he  asked,  "that  I  have  had  no  notice 
of  such  a  petition  ?" 

"Monsieur  le  Marquis,  persons  on  whom  such  a  commis- 
sion is  held,  not  being  supposed  to  have  the  use  of  their  rea- 
son, any  notice  of  the  petition  is  unnecessary.  The  duty  of 
the  Court  chiefly  consists  in  verifying  the  allegations  of  the 
petitioner." 

"Nothing  can  be  fairer,"  replied  the  Marquis.  "Well, 
then,  monsieur,  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  what  I  ought  to 
do " 

"You  have  only  to  answer  my  questions,  omitting  nothing. 
However  delicate  the  reasons  may  be  which  may  have  led 
you  to  act  in  such  a  manner  as  to  give  Madame  d'Espard 
a  pretext  for  her  petition,  speak  without  fear.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  assure  you  that  lawyers  know  their  duties,  and 
that  in  such  cases  the  profoundest  secrecy " 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  Marquis,  whose  face  expressed  the 
sincerest  pain,  "if  my  explanations  should  lead  to  any  blame 
being  attached  to  Madame  d'Espard's  conduct,  what  will  be 
the  result?" 

•'The  Court  may  add  its  censure  to  its  reasons  for  its  deci- 
sion." 

"Is  such  censure  optional?  If*  I  were  to  stipulate  with 
you,  before  replying,  that  nothing  should  be  said  that  could 
annoy  Madame  d'Espard  in  the  event  of  your  report  being 
in  my  favor,  would  the  Court  take  my  request  into  considera- 
tion?" 

The  judge  looked  at  the  Marquis,  and  the  two  men  ex- 
changed sentiments  of  equal  magnanimity. 

""Woel,"  said  Popinot  to  his  registrar,  "go  into  the  other 
room.  If  you  can  be  of  use,  I  will  call  you  in. — If,  as  I  am 
VOL.  7 — 46 


368  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

inclined  to  think/'  he  went  on,  speaking  to  the  Marquis  when 
the  clerk  had  gone  out,  "I  find  that  there  is  some  misunder- 
standing in  this  case,  I  can  promise  you,  monsieur,  that  on 
your  application  the  Court  will  act  with  due  courtesy." 

"There  is  a  leading  fact  put  forward  by  Madame  d'Espard, 
the  most  serious  of  all,  of  which  I  must  beg  for  an  explana- 
tion," said  the  judge  after  a  pause.  "It  refers  to  the  dissipa- 
tion of  your  fortune  to  the  advantage  of  a  certain  Madame 
Jeanrenaud,  the  widow  of  a  bargemaster — or  rather,  to  that 
of  her  son,  Colonel  Jeanrenaud,  for  whom  you  are  said  to 
have  procured  an  appointment,  to  have  exhausted  your  in- 
fluence with  the  King,  and  at  last  to  have  extended  such 
protection  as  secures  him  a  good  marriage.  The  petition  sug- 
gests that  such  a  friendship  is  more  devoted  than  any  feel- 
ings, even  those  which  morality  must  disapprove — 

A  sudden  flush  crimsoned  the  Marquis'  face  and  forehead, 
tears  even  started  to  his  eyes,  for  his  eyelashes  were  wet,  then 
wholesome  pride  crushed  the  emotions,  which  in  a  man  are  ac- 
counted a  weakness. 

"To  tell  you-  the  truth,  monsieur,"  said  the  Marquis,  in  a 
broken  voice,  "you  place  me  in  a  strange  dilemma.  The  mo- 
tives of  my  conduct  were  to  have  died  with  me.  To  reveal 
them  I  must  disclose  to  you  some  secret  wounds,  must  place 
the  honor  of  my  family  in  your  keeping,  and  must  speak  of 
myself,  a  delicate  matter,  as  you  will  fully  understand.  I 
hope,  monsieur,  that  it  will  all  remain  a  secret  between  us. 
You  will,  no  doubt,  be  able  to  find  in  the  formulas  of  the 
law  one  which  will  allow  of  judgment  being  pronounced  with- 
out any  betrayal  of  my  confidences." 

"So  far  as  that  goes,  it  is  perfectly  possible,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis." 

"Some  time  after  my  marriage,"  said  M.  d'Espard,  "my 
wife  having  run  into  considerable  expenses,  I  was  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  borrowing.  You  know  what  was  the  position 
of  noble  families  during  the  Eevolution ;  I  had  not  been  able 
to  keep  a  steward  or  a  man  of  business.  Nowadays  gentle- 
men are  for  the  most  part  obliged  to  manage  their  affairs 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  369 

themselves.  Most  of  my  title-deeds  had  been  brought  to 
Paris,  from  Languedoc,  Provence,  or  le  Comtat,  by  my  father, 
who  dreaded,  and  not  without  reason,  the  inquisition  which 
family  title-deeds,  and  what  was  then  styled  the  'parch- 
ments' of  the  privileged  class,  brought  down  on  the  owners. 

"Our  name  is  Negrepelisse ;  d'Espard  is  a  title  acquired  in 
the  time  of  Henri  IV.  by  a  marriage  which  brought  us  the 
estates  and  titles  of  the  house  of  d'Espard,  on  condition  of 
our  bearing  an  escutcheon  of  pretence  on  our  coat-of-arms, 
those  of  the  house  of  d'Espard,  an  old  family  of  Beam,  con- 
nected in  the  female  line  with  that  of  Albret :  quarterly,  paly 
of  or  and  sable;  and  azure  two  griffins'  claws  armed,  gules 
in  saltire,  with  the  famous  motto  Des  partem  leonis.  At  the 
time  of  this  alliance  we  lost  Negrepelisse,  a  little  town  which 
was  as  famous  during  the  religious  struggles  as  was  my 
ancestor  who  then  bore  the  name.  Captain  de  Negrepelisse 
was  ruined  by  the  burning  of  all  his  property,  for  the 
Protestants  did  not  spare  a  friend  of  Montluc's. 

"The  Crown  was  unjust  to  M.  de  Negrepelisse ;  he  received 
neither  a  marshal's  baton,  nor  a  post  as  governor,  nor  any 
indemnity;  King  Charles  IX.,  who  was  fond  of  him,  died 
without  being  able  to  reward  him;  Henri  IV.  arranged  his 
marriage  with  Mademoiselle  d'Espard,  and  secured  him  the 
estates  of  that  house,  but  all  those  of  the  Negrepelisses  had 
already  passed  into  the  hands  of  his  creditors. 

"My  great-grandfather,  the  Marquis  d'Espard,  was,  like 
me,  placed  early  in  life  at  the  head  of  his  family  by  the  death 
of  his  father,  who,  after  dissipating  his  wife's  fortune,  left  his 
son  nothing  but  the  entailed  estates  of  the  d'Espards,  bur- 
dened with  a  jointure.  The  young  Marquis  was  all  the  more 
straitened  for  money  because  he  held  a  post  at  Court.  Being 
in  great  favor  with  Louis  XIV.,  the  King's  goodwill  brought 
him  a  fortune.  But  here,  monsieur,  a  blot  stained  our 
escutcheon,  an  unconfessed  and  horrible  stain  of  blood  and 
disgrace  which  I  am  making  it  my  business  to  wipe  out.  I 
discovered  the  secret  among  the  deeds  relating  to  the  estate 
of  Negrepelisse  and  the  packets  of  letters." 


370         •  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

At  this  solemn  moment  the  Marquis  spoke  without  hesita- 
tion or  any  of  the  repetition  habitual  with  him;  but  it  is  a 
matter  of  common  observation  that  persons  who,  in  ordinary 
life,  are  afflicted  with  these  two  defects,  are  freed  from  them 
as  soon  as  any  passionate  emotion  underlies  their  speech. 

"The  Eevocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  was  decreed,"  he 
went  on.  "You  are  no  doubt  aware,  monsieur,  that  this  was 
an  opportunity  for  many  favorites  to  make  their  fortunes. 
Louis  XIV.  bestowed  on  the  magnates  about  his  Court  the 
confiscated  lands  of  those  Protestant  families  who  did  not 
take  the  prescribed  steps  for  the  sale  of  their  property.  Some 
persons  in  high  favor  went  'Protestant-hunting,'  as  the  phrase 
was.  I  have  ascertained  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  fortune  en- 
joyed to  this  day  by  two  ducal  families  is  derived  from  lands 
seized  from  hapless  merchants. 

"I  will  not  attempt  to  explain  to  you,  a  man  of  law,  all 
the  manoeuvres  employed  to  entrap  the  refugees  who  had 
large  fortunes  to  carry  away.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the 
lands  of  Negrepelisse,  comprising  twenty-two  churches  and 
rights  over  the  town,  and  those  of  Gravenges  which  had  for- 
merly belonged  to  us,  were  at  that  time  in  the  hands  of  a 
Protestant  family.  My  grandfather  recovered  them  by  gift 
from  Louis  XIV.  This  gift  was  effected  by  documents  hall- 
marked by  atrocious  iniquity.  The  owner  of  these  two 
estates,  thinking  he  would  be  able  to  return,  had  gone  through 
the  form  of  a  sale,  and  was  going  to  Switzerland  to  join  his 
family,  whom  he  had  sent  in  advance.  He  wished,  no  doubt, 
to  take  advantage  of  every  delay  granted  by  the  law,  so  as  to 
settle  the  concerns  of  his  business. 

"This  man  was  arrested  by  order  of  the  governor,  the 
trustee  confessed  the  truth,  the  poor  merchant  was  hanged, 
and  my  ancestor  had  the  two  estates.  I  would  gladly  have 
been  able  to  ignore  the  share  he  took  in  the  plot;  but  the 
governor  was  his  uncle  on  the  mother's  side,  and  I  have  un- 
fortunately read  the  letter  in  which  he  begged  him  to  apply 
to-Deodatus,  the  name  agreed  upon  by  the  Court  to  designate 
the  King.  In  this  letter  there  is  a  tone  of  jocosity  with  refer- 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  371 

ence  to  the  victim,  which  filled  me  with  horror.  In  the  end, 
the  sums  of  money  sent  by  the  refugee  family  to  ransom  the 
poor  man's  life  were  kept  by  the  governor,  who  despatched 
the  merchant  all  the  same." 

The  Marquis  paused,  as  though  the  memory  of  it  were 
still  too  heavy  for  him  to  bear. 

"This  unfortunate  family  were  named  Jeanrenaud,"  he 
went  on.  "That  name  is  enough  to  account  for  my  conduct. 
I  could  never  think  without  keen  pain  of  the  secret  disgrace 
that  weighed  on  my  family.  That  fortune  enabled  my  grand- 
father to  marry  a  demoiselle  de  Navarreins-Lansac,  heiress 
to  the  younger  branch  of  that  house,  who  were  at  that  time 
much  richer  than  the  elder  branch  of  the  Navarreins.  My 
father  thus  became  one  of  the  largest  landowners  in  the 
kingdom.  He  was  able  to  marry  my  mother,  a  Graudlieu  of 
the  younger  branch.  Though  ill-gotten,  this  property  has 
been  singularly  profitable. 

"For  my  part,  being  determined  to  remedy  the  mischief, 
I  wrote  to  Switzerland,  and  knew  no  peace  till  I  was  on  the 
traces  of  the  Protestant  victim's  heirs.  At  last  I  discovered 
that  the  Jeanrenauds,  reduced  to  abject  want,  had  left  Fri- 
bourg  and  returned  to  live  in  France.  Finally,  I  found  in 
M.  Jeanrenaud,  lieutenant  in  a  cavalry  regiment  under  Na- 
poleon, the  sole  heir  of  this  unhappy  family.  In  my  eyes, 
monsieur,  thexrights  of  the  Jeanrenauds  were  clear.  To  es- 
tablish a  prescriptive  right  is  it  not  necessary  that  there 
should  have  been  some  possibility  of  proceeding  against  those 
who  are  in  the  enjoyment  of  it?  To  whom  could  these 
refugees  have  appealed  ?  Their  Court  of  Justice  was  on  high, 
or  rather,  monsieur,  it  was  here,"  and  the  Marquis  struck 
his  hand  on  his  heart.  "I  did  not  choose  that  my  children 
should  be  able  to  think  of  me  as  I  have  thought  of  my  father 
and  of  my  ancestors.  I  aim  at -leaving  them  an  unblemished 
inheritance  and  escutcheon.  I  did  not  choose  that  nobility 
should  be  a  lie  in  my  person.  And,  after  all,  politically  speak- 
ing, ought  those  emigres  who  are  now  appealing  against  revo- 
lutionary confiscations,  to  keep  the  property  derived  from  an- 
tecedent confiscations  by  positive  crimes? 


S72  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

"I  found  in  M.  Jeanrenaud  and  his  mother  the  most  per- 
verse honesty;  to  hear  them  you  would  suppose  that  they 
were  robbing  me.  In  spite  of  all  I  could  say,  they  will  ac- 
cept no  more  than  the  value  of  the  lands  at  the  time  when 
the  King  bestowed  them  on  my  family.  The  price  was 
settled  between  us  at  the  sum  of  eleven  hundred  thousand 
francs,  which  I  was  to  pay  at  my  convenience  and  without 
interest.  To  achieve  this  I  had  to  forego  my  income  for  a 
long  time.  And  then,  monsieur,  began  the  destruction  of 
some  illusions  I  had  allowed  myself  as  to  Madame  d'Espard's 
character.  When  I  proposed  to  her  that  we  should  leave 
Paris  and  go  into  the  country,  where  we  could  live  respected 
on  half  of  her  income,  and  so  more  rapidly  complete  a  resti- 
tution of  which  I  spoke  to  her  without  going  into  the  more 
serious  details,  Madame  d'Espard  treated  me  as  a  madman. 
I  then  understood  my  wife's  real  character.  She  would  have 
approved  of  my  grandfather's  conduct  without  a  scruple,  and 
have  laughed  at  the  Huguenots.  Terrified  by  her  coldness,  and 
her  little  affection  for  her  children,  whom  she  abandoned  to 
me  without  a  regret,  I  determined  to  leave  her  the  command 
of  her  fortune,  after  paying  our  common  debts.  It  was  no 
business  of  hers,  as  she  told  me,  to  pay  for  my  follies.  As 
I  then  had  not  enough  to  live  on  and  pay  for  my  sons'  educa- 
tion, I  determined  to  educate  them  myself,  to  make  them 
gentlemen  and  men  of  feeling.  By  investing  my  money  in 
the  funds  I  have  been  enabled  to  pay  off  my  obligation  sooner 
than  I  had  dared  to  hope,  for  I  took  advantage  of  the  op- 
portunities afforded  by  the  improvement  in  prices.  If  I 
had  kept  four  thousand  francs  a  year  for  my  boys  and  my- 
self, I  could  only  have  paid  off  twenty  thousand  crowns 
a  year,  and  it  would  have  taken  almost  eighteen  years  to 
achieve  my  freedom.  As  it  is,  I  have  lately  repaid  the  whole 
of  the  eleven  hundred  thousand  francs  that  were  due.  Thus 
I  enjoy  the  happiness  of  having  made  this  restitution  without 
doing  my  children  the  smallest  wrong. 

"These,  monsieur,  are  the  reasons  for  the  payments  made 
to  Madame  Jeanrenaud  and  her  son." 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  878 

"So  Madame  d'Espard  knew  the  motives  of  your  retire- 
ment?" said  the  judge,  controlling  the  emotion  he  felt  at 
this  narrative. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

Popinot  gave  an  expressive  shrug;  he  rose  and  opened  the 
door  into  the  next  room. 

"Noel,  you  can  go/'  said  he  to  his  clerk, 

"Monsieur,"  he  went  on,  "though  what  you  have  told  me 
is  enough  to  enlighten  me  thoroughly,  I  should  like  to  hear 
what  you  have  to  say  to  the  other  facts  put  forward  in  the 
petition.  For  instance,  you  are  here  carrying  on  a  business 
such  as  is  not  habitually  undertaken  by  a  man  of  rank." 

"We  cannot  discuss  that  matter  here,"  said  the  Marquis, 
signing  to  the  judge  to  quit  the  room.  "Nouvion,"  said  he 
to  the  old  man,  "I  am  going  down  to  my  rooms;  the  chil- 
dren will  soon  be  in ;  dine  with  us." 

"Then,  Monsieiir  le  Marquis,"  said  Popinot  on  the  stairs, 
"that  is  not  your  apartment?" 

"No,  monsieur;  I  took  those  rooms  for  the  office  of  this 
undertaking.  You  see,"  and  he  pointed  to  an  advertisement 
sheet,  "the  History  is  being  brought  out  by  one  of  the  most 
respectable  firms  in  Paris,  and  not  by  me." 

The  Marquis  showed  the  lawyer  into  the  ground-floor 
rooms,  saying,  "This  is  my  apartment." 

Popinot  was  quite  touched  by  the  poetry,  not  aimed  at  but 
pervading  this  dwelling.  The  weather  was  lovely,  the  win- 
dows were  open,  the  air  from  the  garden  brought  in  a  whole- 
some earthy  smell,  the  sunshine  brightened  and  gilded  the 
woodwork,  of  a  rather  gloomy  brown.  At  the  sight  Popinot 
made  up  his  mind  that  a  madman  would  hardly  be  capable 
of  inventing  the  tender  harmony  of  which  he  was  at  that 
moment  conscious. 

"I  should  like  just  such  an  apartment,"  thought  he.  "You 
think  of  leaving  this  part  of  the  town  ?"  he  inquired. 

"I  hope  so,"  replied  the  Marquis.  "But  I  shall  remain  till 
my  younger  son  has  finished  his  studies,  and  till  the  children's 
character  is  thoroughly  formed,  before  introducing  them  to 


374  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

the  world  and  to  their  mother's  circle.  Indeed,  after  giving 
them  the  solid  information  they  possess,  I  intend  to  com- 
plete it  by  taking  them  to  travel  to  the  capitals  of  Europe, 
that  they  may  see  men  and  things,  and  become  accustomed  to 
speak  the  languages  they  have  learned.  And,  monsieur,"  he 
went  on,  giving  the  judge  a  chair  in  the  drawing-room,  "I 
could  not  discuss  the  book  on  China  with  you,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  an  old  friend  of  my  family,  the  Comte  de  NOuvion, 
who,  having  emigrated,  has  returned  to  France  without  any 
fortune  whatever,  and  who  is  my  partner  in  this  concern, 
less  for  my  profit  than  his.  Without  telling  him  what  my 
motives  were,  I  explained  to  him  that  I  was  as  poor  as  he, 
but  that  I  had  enough  money  to  start  a  speculation  in  which 
he  might  be  usefully  employed.  My  tutor  was  the  Abbe 
Grozier,  whom  Charles  X.  on  my  recommendation  appointed 
Keeper  of  the  Books  at  the  Arsenal,  which  were  returned 
to  that  Prince  when  he  was  still  Monsieur.  The  Abbe  Grozier 
was  deeply  learned  with  regard  to  China,  its  manners  and 
customs ;  he  made  me  heir  to  this  knowledge  at  an  age  when 
it  is  difficult  not  to  become  a  fanatic  for  the  things  we  learn. 
At  five-and-twenty  1  knew  Chinese,  and  I  confess  I  have 
never  been  able  to  check  myself  in  a^i  exclusive  admiration 
for  that  nation,,  who  conquered  their  conquerors,  whose  an- 
nals extend  back  indisputably  to  a  period  more  remote  than 
mythological  or  Bible  times,  who  by  their  immutable  institu- 
tions have  preserved  the  integrity  of  their  empire,  whose 
monuments  are  gigantic,  whose  administration  is  perfect, 
among  whom  revolutions  are  impossible,  who  have  regarded 
ideal  beauty  as  a  barren  element  in  art,  who  have  carried 
luxury  and  industry  to  such  a  pitch  that  we  cannot  outdo 
them  in  anything,  while  they  are  our  equals  in  things  where 
we  believe  ourselves  superior. 

"Still,  monsieur,  though  I  often  make  a  jest  of  comparing 
China  with  the  present  condition  of  European  states,  I  am 
not  a  Chinaman,  I  am  a  French  gentleman.  If  you  enter- 
tain any  doubts  as  to  the  financial  side  of  this  undertaking, 
I  can  prove  to  you  that  at  this  moment  we  have  two  thousand 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  375 

five  hundred  subscribers  to  this  work,  which  is  literary,  icono- 
graphical,  statistical,  and  religious;  its  importance  has  been 
generally  appreciated;  our  subscribers  belong  to  every  na- 
tion in  Europe,  we  have  but  twelve  hundred  in  France.  Our 
book  will  cost  about  three  hundred  francs,  and  the  Comte  de 
Nouvion  will  derive  from  it  from  six  to  seven  thousand 
francs  a  year,  for  his  comfort  was  the  real  motive  of  the  un- 
dertaking. For  my  part,  I  aimed  only  at  the  possibility  of 
affording  my  children  some  pleasures.  The  hundred  thoi'- 
sand  francs  I  have  made,  quite  in  spite  of  myself,  will  pay 
for  their  fencing  lessons,  horses,  dress,  and  theatres,  pay  the 
masters  who  teach  them  accomplishments,  procure  them  can- 
vases to  spoil,  the  books  they  may  wish  to  buy,  in  short,  all  the 
little  fancies  which  a  father  finds  so  much  pleasure  irr  gratify- 
ing. If  I  had  been  compelled  to  refuse  these  indulgences  to 
my  poor  boys,  who  are  so  good  and  work  so  hard,  the  sacri- 
fice I  made  to  the  honor  of  my  name  would  have  been  doubly 
painful. 

"In  point  of  fact,  the  twelve  years  I  have  spent  in  retire- 
ment from  the  world  to  educate  my  children  have  led  to  my 
being  completely  forgotten  at  Court.  I  have  given  up  the 
career  of  politics;  I  have  lost  my  historical  fortune,  and  all 
the  distinctions  which  I  might  have  acquired  and  bequeathed 
to  my  children;  but  our  house  will  have  lost  nothing;  my 
boys  will  be  men  of  mark.  Though  I  have  missed  the 
senatorship,  they  will  win  it  nobly  by  devoting  themselves 
to  the  affairs  of  the  country,  and  doing  such  service  as  is 
not  soon  forgotten.  While  purifying  the  past  record  of  my 
family,  I  have  insured  it  a  glorious  future;  and  is  not  that 
to  have  achieved  a  noble  task,  though  in  secret  and  without 
glory? — And  now,  monsieur,  have  you  any  other  explana- 
tions to  ask  me  ?" 

At  this  instant  the  tramp  of  horses  was  heard  in  the  court- 
yard. 

"Here  they  are !"  said  the  Marquis.  In  a  moment  the  two 
lads,  fashionably  but  plainly  dressed,  came  into  the  room, 
booted,  spurred,  and  gloved,  and  flourishing  their  riding- 


S76  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

whips.  Their  beaming  faces  brought  in  the  freshness  of  the 
outer  air ;  they  were  brilliant  with  health.  They  both  grasped 
their  father's  hand,  giving  him  a  look,  as  friends  do,  a  glance 
of  unspoken  affection,  and  then  they  bowed  coldly  to  the  law- 
yer. Popinot  felt  that  it  was  quite  unnecessary  to  question 
the  Marquis  as  to  his  relations  towards  his  sons. 

"Have  you  enjoyed  yourselves  ?"  asked  the  Marquis. 

"Yes,  father;  I  knocked  down  six  dolls  in  twelve  shots  at 
the  first  trial  I"  cried  Camille. 

"And  where  did  you  ride  ?" 

"In  the  Bois ;  we  saw  my  mother." 

"Did  she  stop?" 

"We  were  riding  so  fast  just  then  that  I  daresay  she  did 
not  see  us,"  replied  the  young  Count. 

"But,  then,  why  did  you  not  go  to  speak  to  her?" 

"I  fancy  I  have  noticed,  father,  that  she  does  not  care  that 
we  should  speak  to  her  in  public,"  said  Clement  in  an  under- 
tone. ""We  are  a  little  too  big." 

The  judge's  hearing  was  keen  enough  to  catch  these  words, 
which  brought  a  cloud  to  the  Marquis'  brow.  Popinot  took 
pleasure  in  contemplating  the  picture  of  the  father  and  his 
boys.  His  eyes  went  back  with  a  sense  of  pathos  to  M. 
d'Espard's  face ;  his  features,  his  expression,  and  his  manner 
all  expressed  honesty  in  its  noblest  aspect,  intellectual  and 
chivalrous  honesty,  nobility  in  all  its  beauty. 

"You — you  see,  monsieur,"  said  the  Marquis,  and  his  hesi- 
tation had  returned,  "you  see  that  Justice  may  look  in — in 
here  at  any  time — yes,  at  any  time — here.  If  there  is  any- 
body crazy,  it  can  only  be  the  children — the  children— who 
are  a  little  crazy  about  their  father,  and  the  father  who  is 
very  cra^y  about  his  children — but  that  sort  of  madness  rings 
true." 

At  this  juncture  Madame  Jeanrenaud's  voice  was  heard  in 
tfie  ante-room,  and  the  good  woman  came  bustling  in,  in  spite 
if  the  man-servant's  remonstrances. 

"I  take  no  roundabout  ways,  I  «an  tell  you !"  she  exclaimed. 
Yes,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  this 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  377 

very  minute,"  she  went  on,  with  a  comprehensive  bow  to  the 
company.  "By  George,  and  I  am  too  late  as  it  is,  since  Mon- 
sieur the  criminal  Judge  is  before  me." 

"Criminal !"  cried  the  two  boys. 

"Good  reason  why  I  did  not  find  you  at  your  own  house, 
since  you  are  here.  Well,  well !  the  Law  is  always  to  the  fore 
when  there  is  mischief  brewing. — I  came,  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis, to  tell  you  that  my  son  and  I  axe  of  one  mind  to  give 
you  everything  back,  since  our  honor  is  threatened.  My  son 
and  I,  we  had  rather  give  you  back  everything  than  cause 
you  the  smallest  trouble.  My  word>  they  must  be  as  stupid  as 
pans  without  handles  to  call  you  a  lunatic " 

"A  lunatic !  My  father  ?"  exclaimed  the  boys,  clinging  to 
the  Marquis.  "What  is  this?" 

"Silence,  madame,"  said  Popinot. 

"Children,  leave  us,"  said  the  Marquis. 

The  two  boys  went  into  the  garden  without  a  word,  but 
very  much  alarmed. 

"Madame,"  said  the  judge,  "the  moneys  paid  to  you  by 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  were  legally  due,  though  given  to  you 
in  virtue  of  a  very  far-reaching  theory  of  honesty.  If  all  the 
people  possessed  of  confiscated  goods,  by  whatever  cause,  even 
if  acquired  by  treachery,  were  compelled  to  make  restitution 
every  hundred  and  fifty  years,  there  would  be  few  legitimate 
owners  in  France.  The  possessions  of  Jacques  Cceur  enriched 
twenty  noble  families;  the  confiscations  pronounced  by  the 
English  to  the  advantage  of  their  adherents  at  the  time  when 
they  held  a  part  of  France  made  the  fortune  of  several 
princely  houses. 

"Our  law  allows  M.  d'Espard  to  dispose  of  his  income  with- 
out accounting  for  it,  or  suffering  him  to  be  accused  of  its 
misapplication.  A  Commission  in  Lunacy  can  only  be  granted 
when  a  man's  actions  are  devoid  of  reason;  but  in  this  case, 
the  remittances  made  to  you  have  a  reason  based  on  the  most 
sacred  and  most  honorable  motives.  Hence  you  may  keep 
it  all  without  remorse,  and  leave  the  world  to  misinterpret 
a  noble  action.  In  Paris,  the  highest  virtue  is  the  object  of 


378  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

the  foulest  calumny.  It  is,  unfortunately,  the  present  con- 
dition of  society  that  makes  the  Marquis'  actions  sublime. 
For  the  honor  of  my  country,  I  would  that  such  deeds  were 
regarded  as  a  matter  of  course;  hut,  as  things  are,  I  am 
forced  by  comparison  to  look  upon  M.  d'Espard  as  a  man  to 
whom  a  crown  should  be  awarded,  rather  than  that  he  should 
be  threatened  with  a  Commission  in  Lunacy. 

"In  the  course  of  a  long  professional  career,  I  have  seen 
and  heard  nothing  which  has  touched  me  more  deeply  than 
that  I  have  just  seen  and  heard.  But  it  is  not  extraordinary 
that  virtue  should  wear  its  noblest  aspect  when  it  is  prac- 
tised by  men  of  the  highest  class. 

"Having  heard  me  express  myself  in  this  way,  I  hope,  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis,  that  you  feel  certain  of  my  silence,  and  that 
you  will  not  for  a  moment  be  uneasy  as  to  the  decision  pro- 
nounced in  the  case — if  it  comes  before  the  Court." 

"There,  now!  Well  said,"  cried  Madame  Jeanrenaud. 
"That  is  something  like  a  judge!  Look  here,  my  dear  sir, 
I  would  hug  you  if  I  were  not  so  ugly;  you  speak  like  a 
book." 

The  Marquis  held  out  his  hand  to  Popinot,  who  gently 
pressed  it  with  a  look  full  of  sympathetic  comprehension  at 
this  great  man  in  private  life,  and  the  Marquis  responded 
with  a  pleasant  smile.  These  two  natures,  both  so  large  and 
full — one  commonplace  but  divinely  kind,  the  other  lofty  and 
sublime — had  fallen  into  unison  gently,  without  a  jar,  with- 
out a  flash  of  passion,  as  though  two  pure  lights  had  been 
merged  into  one.  The  father  of  a  whole  district  felt  himself 
worthy  to  grasp  the  hand  of  this  man  who  was  doubly  noble, 
and  the  Marquis  felt  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  an  instinct 
that  told  him  that  the  judge's  hand  was  one  of  those  from 
which  the  treasures  of  inexhaustible  beneficence  perennially 
flow. 

"Monsieur  le  Marquis/-'  added  Popinot,  with  a  bow,  "I  am 
happy  to  be  able  to  tell  you  that,  from  the  first  words  of  this 
inquiry,  I  regarded  my  clerk  as  quite  unnecessary." 

He  went  close  to  M.  d'Espard,  led  him  into  the  window-bay, 


THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY  379 

and  said :  "It  is  time  that  you  should  return  home,  monsieur. 
I  believe  that  Madame  la  Marquise  has  acted  in  this  matter 
under  an  influence  which  you  ought  at  once  to  counteract." 

Popinot  withdrew.  He  looked  back  several  times  as  he 
crossed  the  courtyard,  touched  by  the  recollection  of  the 
scene.  It  was  one  of  those  which  take  root  in  the  memory 
to  blossom  again  in  certain  hours  when  the  soul  seeks  consola- 
tion. 

"Those  rooms  would  just  suit  me,"  said  he  to  himself  as  he 
reached  home.  "If  M.  d'Espard  leaves  them,  I  will  take  up 
his  lease." 

The  next  day,  at  about  ten  in  the  morning,  Popinot,  who 
had  written  out  his  report  the  previous  evening,  made  his  way 
to  the  Palais  de  Justice,  intending  to  have  prompt  and 
righteous  justice  done.  As  he  went  into  the  robing-room  to 
put  on  his  gown  and  bands,  the  usher  told  him  that  the 
President  of  his  Court  begged  him  to  attend  in  his  private 
room,  where  he  was  waiting  for  him.  Popinot  forthwith 
obeyed. 

"Good-morning,  my  dear  Popinot,"  said  the  President,  "I 
have  been  waiting  for  you." 

"Why,  Monsieur  le  President,  is  anything  wrong?" 

"A  mere  silly  trifle,"  said  the  President.  "The  Keeper  of 
the  Seals,  with  whom  I  had  the  honor  of  dining  yesterday, 
led  me  apart  into  a  corner.  He  had  heard  that  you  had  been 
to  tea  with  Madame  d'Espard,  in  whose  case  you  were  em- 
ployed to  make  inquiries.  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  it 
would  be  as  well  that  you  should  not  sit  on  this  case " 

"But,  Monsieur  le  President,  I  can  prove  that  I  left 
Madame  d'Espard's  house  at  the  moment  when  tea  was 
brought  in.  And  my  conscience " 

"Yes,  yes;  the  whole  Bench,  the  two  Courts,  ail  the  pro- 
fession know  you.  I  need  not  repeat  what  I  said  about  you 
to  his  Eminence;  but,  you  know,  'Caesar's  wife  must  not  be 
suspected.'  So  we  shall  not  make  this  foolish  trifle  a  matter 
of  discipline,  but  only  of  the  proprieties.  Between  ourselves, 
it  is  not  on  your  account,  but  on  that  of  the  Bench." 


380  THE  COMMISSION  IN  LUNACY 

"But,  monsieur,  if  you  only  knew  the  kind  of  woman — .— " 
said  the  judge,  trying  to  pull  his  report  out  of  his  pocket. 

"I  am  perfectly  certain  that  you  have  proceeded  in  this 
matter  with  the  strictest  independence  of  judgment.  I  my- 
self, in  the  provinces,  have  often  taken  more  than  a  cup  of 
tea  with  the  people  I  had  to  try ;  but  the  fact  that  the  Keeper 
of  the  Seals  should  have  mentioned  it,  and  that  you  might  be 
talked  about,  is  enough  to  make  the  Court  avoid  any  discus- 
sion of  the  matter.  Any  conflict  with  public  opinion  must 
always  be  dangerous  for  a  constitutional  body,  even  when  the 
right  is  on  its  side  against  the  public,  because  their  weapons 
are  not  equal.  Journalism  may  say  or  suppose  anything,  and 
our  dignity  forbids  us  even  to  reply.  In  fact,  I  have  spoken 
of  the  matter  to  your  President,  and  M.  Camusot  has  been 
appointed  in  your  place  on  your  retirement,  which  you  will 
signify.  It  is  a  family  matter,  so  to  speak.  And  I  now  beg 
you  to  signify  your  retirement  from  the  case  as  a  personal 
favor.  To  make  up,  you  will  get  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor,  which  has  so  long  been  due  to  you.  I  make  that  my 
business." 

When  he  saw  M.  Camusot,  a  judge  recently  called  to  Paris 
from  a  provincial  Court  of  the  same  class,  as  he  went  for- 
ward bowing  to  the  Judge  and  the  President,  Popinot  could 
not  repress  an  ironical  smile.  This  pale,  fair  young  man, 
full  of  covert  ambition,  looked  ready  to  hang  and  unhang, 
at  the  pleasure  of  any  earthly  king,  the  innocent  and  the 
guilty  alike,  and  to  follow  the  example  of  a  Laubardemont 
rather  than  that  of  a  Mole. 

Popinot  withdrew  with  a  bow ;  he  scorned  to  deny  the  lying 
accusation  that  had  beep  brought  against  him. 

PARIS.  February  1836. 


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